Stephanie Redux
by PinPin13
Summary: Post-EoT. With Stiva foiled, Steph starts fresh again. An unexpected job offer brings new friends, villians, danger, drama, & stirs up a mystery from the past. Does she want this new life? Can she adjust? Will the MerryMen help her decide? Multi-POV, BABE
1. Chapter 1

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

** This is an older, multi-POV, multi-chapter story that picks up directly following the end of _Eleven on Top_. It was originally posted years ago at Y!PlumFanFiction. It's still a WIP, but to date it's approaching 170k words. Since this story's conception and plot outline dates back to '05, _Twelve Sharp_ and later books were not used as canon because they had yet to be published (for example: Tank and Lula were never a couple and his real name was still a mystery, Stephanie was never a suspect in Orr's disappearance, and since there was never a Scrog, we barely know anything about Ranger's daughter or ex-wife, etc...). For anyone who hasn't read EoT in a while and is a little hazy on the details from its final pages, I recommend giving the last chapter a perusal/rereading. **

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 1****  
><strong>**  
><strong>"I feel better now."

And I did. Something inside me shifted and relaxed. I'm Stephanie Plum, the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Step aside Chambersburg, you're in my goddamn way. I may need back-up and the occasional rescue, but no one fights my battles for me. Look out Trenton, I'm ready to kick some ass.

"Babe."

Ranger was wearing his blank face. His voice was tight and his posture was still visibly tense. He looked pissed; controlled, but fuming. For a change of pace, I decided to think before I said anything that might stir-up trouble. Was he angry with me for coming back and destroying Stiva's car and garage? Maybe. Was he pissed at Tank and Hal for not securing me at Morelli's? Probably. Was he burning with rage because Stiva had hurt me and nearly killed me? Definitely. As a matter of fact, so was I. Upon reflection, I guess I didn't really have anything to say.

We were facing each other silently while Tank secured Stiva. He cuffed him and proceeded to none-too-gently kick the old man's ass across the street and into the Explorer. Hal was on his cell phone and moving towards us. A glance from Ranger stilled him, and Hal hung back to wait about fifteen feet from us. As Tank moved to stand beside Hal, Ranger returned his attention to me.

"What are you doing here," he asked quietly. Any doubt I had had before flew from my mind. He was most definitely and royally pissed. And I was positive he was pissed at me.

"You were staying to takedown Stiva. I wanted in on it."

A few more moments passed in an unnerving silence which, surprisingly enough, was broken by Ranger. "I told you I didn't want you here. It was too dangerous."

I felt my own body tense. There was anger building in my chest. This conversation was starting to sound familiar. "I wanted to be here. I have every right to be here."

His face flickered for barely a second. I saw an expression that I hadn't ever seen before flash across his face before it became blank once again. "Why aren't you with Morelli?" He cut his eyes to Tank and Hal.

I'm not exactly sure what it was, but something about this last question had me seeing red. I think steam may have shot from my ears and there was a whistling sound inside my head. I heard my own voice grow sharp and tight. "If you dare say that name to me again tonight, you're going to wish you were Stiva."

All three men snapped their heads to stare at me with wide eyes. _Oh, shit! Did I just__ threaten Ranger!_ Hal's mouth was hanging open and he had let the hand holding his phone fall from his face to his side. It was the first time I had seen shock on a Rangeman's face. Ranger was speechless, not that he ever said much in the first place. If there hadn't been anger coursing through me like molten lava, I would have collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"After tonight I know exactly how dangerous Stiva can be. Trust me. So if I want to hang around ground zero and wait for the boom that's my decision. I don't need a baby-sitter or a warden. I went with Tank and Hal because you asked. They did exactly what you told them to do. But you're freaking nuts if you thought that I was just going to sit around and be lectured by Morelli while Con was still out there. And if you want to complain about having a rotten day you're going to have to get in the back of the line. Those six bad hours you spent looking, I spent stuffed inside a kitchen cabinet. It was a great evening compared to my afternoon, which I spent locked in a coffin. I was alive and trapped in a casket! I have every right to be here! I have every right to go _beat_ the _shit_ out of Stiva! THE BASTARD LOCKED ME INSIDE A FUCKING CASKET!" My voice kept growing louder and louder. By the end of my rant I was screaming. My face was on fire and my hands were clenched in tight fists and were starting to ache.

The men stood frozen in place, Hal's mouth still open wide. Ranger took one small, slow step in my direction at the exact same moment that we heard the sirens. I turned to see blue and red lights flashing faintly in the distance but growing brighter. They pulled me up and out of my little inferno. I drew a few deep breaths, relaxing and loosening my fists. With a tug on Bob's leash I headed back to the Buick. He jumped in and I shut the doors. I was trying hard not to notice the others still standing on the lawn. _Why had I been screaming again?_ My mind felt cluttered.

Grabbing a baggy I kept in the car, I went to collect Bob's poop. I found a trash can near the garage and once rid of the baggy, I moved toward some lawn chairs that were now thrown in a heap just beyond Stiva's crushed green sedan. I pulled one over near Big Blue to sit and wait for Trenton's Finest to arrive. The adrenaline had faded and as I recovered from my earlier outburst, I was starting to feel just how tired and sore I really was.

Hal seemed to be recovering as well. He had closed his phone and his mouth. I looked around at the entire scene for a moment. The storm of emotions was settling and I was trying to gather a few coherent thoughts. This wasn't going to be easy to explain to the police. I sat back in the chair and absent-mindedly rubbed Bob's ears through the car window. Three sets of wide eyes and raised eyebrows were still glued to me. I took in the sight before me and couldn't control myself. I burst out laughing, holding my sides and wiping at my tears. My entire body shook in mirth. There was no other word for it; they were dumbstruck. Their faces were priceless.

My laughter seemed to break whatever spell they had been under. Tank was the first to react. "Jesus Christ," he muttered as he returned to the Explorer. Hal was on the phone again, and from the barely-there conversation, I assumed he was talking to someone at RangeMan.

Ranger hadn't moved. He still stood frozen facing me. He hadn't taken his eyes off me. His breathing was heavy and his blank face had returned. His eyes were intense with something, but I couldn't tell what. Hal took a cautious step towards him.

"Boss, the teams."

I guess that was supposed to make sense to Ranger. After a few beats he slowly pulled his eyes from me to speak to Hal. True to form, he spoke briefly and with authority.

"Final status reports and cancel. Send the debrief to all points. Notify Brower." Hal nodded and moved back to the Explorer where Tank was waiting. Ranger's head dipped forward to stare at his feet for a minute. I cocked my head to the side a fraction of an inch and felt my forehead wrinkle. I'd never seen Ranger with his head down like that. It was disarming. When he lifted his eyes to me again I almost gasped at what I found there. Pure emotion was etched across his face, more than I had ever seen on anyone. It was a confused jumble of every emotion I could name, and probably a few I couldn't. I sat transfixed as he came towards me. He reached out to brush a curl from my face and tuck it behind my ear before reaching down to take my hands. He turned them over inspecting my wrists. Then he scanned the rest of my body for injuries. He spoke with a low, hoarse voice. "Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm a little miffed though."

That earned me the full 100 watts and the ever popular classic, "Babe."

He shifted his gaze back to my eyes and his smile slowly faded. His expression stole my breath away. He looked almost...sad? _This isn't like him. What's happening to him?_ Ranger dropped my hands and sank to his knees in front of me. He laid his head in my lap and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me to him tightly. Somehow I managed not to cry out in shock.

I could feel his warm cheek pressed against my stomach and his heaving chest rhythmically shifting over my thighs. I reached down to brush his hair from his face and saw his eyes were pinched shut as if in pain. When he spoke his voice shook. "I thought I'd lost you, Babe. I was crazy." He gulped in a breath. "I thought you were gone. I…in the house…and then I saw you. You looked so small. I thought I was too late." He was silent a moment. When he spoke again there was so much pain in his voice, it tore a small sob from my throat. "God, Babe. I thought you were gone. I thought I'd lost you."

"Shh, Ranger," I spoke in a soft whisper. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here with you."

He tightened his arms around me and I ran my fingers through his hair. We sat like that for a long time, even after the police had arrived. None of them had come over to us. I could see Tank talking to a group of officers, gesturing first towards the house, then towards the Explorer, and finally towards Ranger and I. He quietly approached, clearing his throat. Ranger took no notice of him.

"Boss?" Tank was giving Ranger a strange look. "Ric? ... What should I do about the cops?"

"I'll handle it Tank." I spoke up quickly and more decisively than even I had expected.

Tank studied me a moment and then nodded. "Brower's at the station."

"Who's Brower?"

Tank paused a moment to study me again, the uncertainty apparent in his eyes. "RangeMan lawyer."

"Good. Tell him not to do anything until I speak with him. And make sure no one makes a statement until I've made mine. Hand Stiva over to the police. Tell them I want to press charges. Kidnapping and assault. And tell them to search his home and the funeral parlor. They'll find evidence of grand theft, arson, murder, and various other crimes."

Tank nodded again and walked back over to the crowd of police. I saw Carl and Big Dog standing near an unmarked car that was parked at a distance from the rest of the scene. Carl nodded to me and opened the rear door before he and Big Dog returned to their seats in front.

I ran a hand across Ranger's shoulders and brushed my knuckles along his jaw. His breathing had slowed and his shoulders were more relaxed. "Ranger, we need to go down to the station. I need you to come with me while I make my statement. We'll ride with Carl and Big Dog." I lifted his head so that I could see his face. "Look at me." His eyes locked with mine. "Come with me. We're going to go together."

We stood up slowly, his hands still at my waist. He slid one of his hands to the small of my back as we walked over to Carl and Big Dog, but somehow I felt like I was leading him. I grabbed his hand as I slid into the backseat and he followed. We sat close together, our legs and sides touching. Ranger looked like he was in his zone, except he wasn't. He was somewhere else. I could tell that there was something different. I thought about how strong and secretive Ranger is. I felt destitute. It was terrifying to see him looking so helpless, so lost. Then I thought about how strong he made me feel, about the way his hand on my neck always made me feel safe and gave me courage. I reached up behind him to put my hand on the back of his neck and I rested my head on his shoulder. I felt him relax under my weight. A very small, warm smile appeared on his lips and he hooked a finger through one of the belt loops on my jeans. We sat like that for the quiet ride to the station.

We were greeted by Brower as soon as we entered the building. If he was as good at law as he was at first impressions, I was sure that I'd never see the inside of a courtroom again. A finely made suit and an exquisite briefcase added to the charming strength and dignity that radiated from him. He was just under six feet tall and in great shape. I'd guess he was in his late fifties, and that thirty years ago he was as built as any of the Rangemen. He looked from Ranger to me and then turned to an officer at the front desk requesting a room where he could meet with his clients. The officer looked past him and frowned when he saw us. I had a hand resting on Ranger's shoulder and his hand was once again at the small of my back. We had been in physical contact every second since he had held my hands at Stiva's. Ranger had remained silent the entire time. We stood to the side in the hall waiting for Brower to return. The officer was on the phone with someone and did not look pleased. He told Brower that it would take a few minutes and that we should have a seat. Brower sat on a bench near us while we continued to stand.

I was soon lost in thought, recalling as many details from throughout the day as I could: Joe's note this morning, my conversation with my dad, Con finding me snooping, the silk lining inside the casket, the ache of my body in that cabinet, the look on Ranger's face when I fell into his arms, the car ride with Tank and Hal, the sound of the green sedan crumpling, the weight of Ranger's head in my lap and the feel of his hair between my fingers. I was so deep in my thoughts that I didn't see or hear Joe limp up to me.

"Cupcake, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" His voice was a deadly hiss.

I was so startled I think I literally jumped a foot in the air. As I flinched I accidentally moved away from Ranger. He tensed immediately and quickly reached out to pull me back against his side. I looked up at him and saw the small creases around his eyes, traces of the pain that had been so clear on his face at Stiva's. I ran my hand down his arm and smiled what I hoped was a reassuring smile as I squeezed his hand. He gently squeezed my hand in return. Making my voice as soothing as I could manage I told him again, "I'm right here."

When I turned back to Joe his eyes were wide and blazing. He was flushed crimson and almost shaking with rage. This was not the same calm, friendly Joe I had left at home earlier. He looked from Ranger to me and then down at our clasped hands. "Answer me dammit! What the fuck are you doing?"

As if on cue, Brower materialized beside us. "My name is Edward Brower. I represent RangeMan Enterprises." He handed Joe a business card. "My clients have been brought in for questioning pertaining to an automobile accident."

Joe was so furious he looked like he might very well explode. I was usually cringing at this point, feeling stung by his piercing glare. At that moment though, I couldn't have cared less. _Let him be angry_, I thought. It didn't matter much to me anymore. I wasn't angry.

I smiled when I recalled the way I felt when I saw Con trapped by his airbag. I felt great. It felt better than finding out that he was the fifth man at Fort Dix. That had been exciting, but watching Stiva flailing in vain at his car door had felt satisfying. It felt like justice. _I'm Stephanie Plum. Bounty hun__ter. Rangeman. 'Burg to the bone._ And I had things to do, like clear up this Stiva mess and take care of Ranger. I smiled again when the thought struck me. _I needed to take care of Ranger and make sure he was alright._ My smile only seemed to further infuriate Joe. He was actually spitting with hate.

"Is that how it is Stephanie? Is it that easy? That cheap? You can be bought with a lawyer who'll try to smooth things over whenever you fuck something up?"

"Excuse me, officer," Brower immediately and fiercely broke in. "You must be mistaken. I represent the entire RangeMan firm. Ms. Plum is an employee and entitled to my services as part of her employment contract. I am here tonight to guide her through the questioning process and advise her as needed. I have already advised her not to answer any questions until we have had a chance to speak in confidence. Therefore, I will have to ask you not to ask Ms. Plum or Mr. Manoso any further questions until we have had an opportunity to confer in private."

If Joe were to get any more upset he'd pass out. Brower was not helping the situation. I could sense disaster looming. "That's alright Mr. Brower, I'd like a moment with Detective Morelli."

Brower seemed skeptical, but moved back to sit on his bench. I smiled at Ranger again as I stepped away from him, but I kept a firm grip on his hand. I turned to Joe with my arm stretched out to Ranger behind me. I looked at him with what was probably the first blank face I've ever managed.

"I've had a very long day Joe. It's complicated. I need to stay here and straighten out some things. Go home and get some rest. I'm sure you'll hear more than enough about all of this tomorrow." My voice was flat and patient. I was exhausted. I couldn't have been angry if I'd wanted to, which only seemed to turn Joe deeper shades of pissed.

"That's bullshit Stephanie! Don't give me that. You run off in the middle of the night to play super-hero with your whack-job pals and then show-up here holding hands and all you can say is that it's complicated and I should go rest? Fuck that Stephanie!"

Ranger's hand tightened on mine and it stemmed the threatening tide rising in me. I kept my blank face but couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice. This routine of his was getting old. "You better take a deep breath and listen to me Joe. I'm not the only person who's had a horrible day. I will not leave here until this accident thing is resolved. Ranger and Tank and Hal aren't just co-workers; they're my friends. I _will not_ leave them. And you are not involved in this. You should go home. I don't have to talk to you Joe, and I'm not going to, so you might as well leave." I held Joe's gaze for a few beats trying to impress upon him how completely serious I was and then turned back to Ranger. I leaned back against the wall and rested my head against his shoulder. I have no idea how I was able to stay on my feet. It probably had something to do with the way Ranger was looking down at me resting at his side.

Joe's anger was reaching record breaking heights as I watched him out of the corner of my eye. I was starting to wonder if we were all witnessing what the courts refer to as 'temporary insanity.' Thankfully, whatever Joe was about to say or do was interrupted. Eddie Gazarra was almost running over to us, and I doubted it was because he had an urgent telegram for me. He knew Joe as well as I did and could see that interference was in order. He was slightly winded when he finally arrived.

"Steph, Ranger, Mr. Brower, if you'll follow me please." He led the way through the station to an interview room in the basement and near the side exit to the parking lot. I let out a mental sigh of relief. Eddie must be handling the questioning if we're being placed in such a private and convenient room. Tank and Hal were already waiting for us. "You can have a few minutes with your lawyer. I'll be back in twenty to file the accident reports and take your initial statements. We've sent people over to Stiva's. You'll have to come back in a day or two for more questions after we know all of the charges. If you need anything Steph you know how to get a hold of me."

We settled around the table, Ranger and I sitting close with our arms linked, Tank and Hal across from us without their arms linked, and Brower at the far end of the table. Brower produced a pad of paper, a pen, and a small recorder from his briefcase and looked between Ranger and Tank. "I need the official version of what happened tonight." He nearly fell out of his chair when I started speaking.

"This afternoon I went to Michael Baroni's memorial service. I had taken my RangeMan Ducati, which has a tracking device on it. The service was at Stiva's. While I was there Con Stiva asked if he could speak to me in private. Recently I've been stalked and harassed by a man who was thought to be Spiro Stiva. I thought Con wanted to talk to me about his son, Spiro. I went with him to his private residence behind the funeral home. Once we were inside he zapped me with a stun gun. When I came-to I was inside a casket. I'm not sure how long I was in there. I thought that I had been buried alive until I could feel that I was being moved." I watched Tank's jaw clench and a muscle in his neck jump. Hal's usually blank, but gentle face was murderous. Ranger had stiffened in his seat and his hands were white-knuckled on the table. All of the men were breathing more deeply than normal. I put my hand back on Ranger's neck as I continued, trying to send him the message; '_I'm still here with you. I'm right here.'_

"Eventually we stopped and the lid opened. I was in a house then, one that I didn't recognize. Con told me that he was the man who had been harassing me. He had been impersonating his dead son and trying to pin the Baroni shallow grave murders on him. He said that when my body was found everyone would think that Spiro had gone insane and committed all of the crimes. He told me he had to leave me there for a while and he'd come back to kill me later. Then he must have stunned me again because the next thing I remember is waking up in a small dark space. I was cuffed. I felt around and found a small piece of metal. I spent hours trying to pick the lock on the cuffs." When I spoke about picking the locks the anger seemed to drain from the room, and instead they all wore curious expressions. From that point in the story they should have known what I'd say next. They seemed surprised when they didn't.

"When I finally managed to get my hands free I saw that I was stuffed in one of the kitchen cabinets and that the pick I had used was a loose carpentry staple. I tried to get away in a car that was in the garage, but as soon as I got in the driver's seat Con returned. He was driving my Buick. He rammed the car twice from behind. That's when Ranger, Tank, and Hal arrived. They helped me out of the car and captured Stiva. They told me that they had been searching for me since I hadn't returned to work and the GPS showed that I was still at the funeral home. My Buick, which also had a tracking device, had been parked outside Morelli's house. When the GPS showed that it was moving, they followed it to Spiro's house. Then the police arrived." Brower nodded and stopped the recorder. He was writing notes on his legal pad and replaying the tape of my explanation. Tank and Hal both had huge smiles on their faces. Ranger leaned over and placed a light kiss at my temple. I could see the strength returning to his eyes. He was slowly coming back from wherever he had been at Spiro's. Just as the tape finished playing I remembered something.

"Wait, there's one more thing." Brower cued the tape and pressed record. "My dog Bob was at the scene. Since Morelli broke his leg Tank had been helping me take care of the dog. Bob was in the Explorer when I went missing and no one wanted to take the time to stop searching and drop him off somewhere." All four men looked at me for a silent moment and then erupted in laughter. I was nearly blinded by 400 watts worth of handsome grins.

When the laughter quieted Brower sat up and was serious again. "Well, none of you have committed any offense and you should be able to leave as soon as you give your statements. Ms. Plum, you'll definitely have to return for questioning and give a much more detailed statement before you formally press charges. I'll be sure to have time this next week, so let me know when it is best for you and I'll be here. Also, if you have any evidence in your possession you should report it now and have an officer collect it immediately to ensure a solid chain of custody. So, unless you forgot to clean-up after your dog, you're all in the clear."

Tank spoke up then. "No, we're good. I had a bag. It's taken care of." We were all laughing again as Eddie walked into the room.

Eddie took our statements and filed an accident report, but he said that since Con had used the Buick it had to be held as evidence. My first thought was of how disappointed my dad would be. Luckily, the Merry Men have more practical minds.

Tank interjected, "You'll ride with us tonight and in the morning. We'll have the Duc waiting in the garage tomorrow."

Once that was settled Eddie turned to me with a very serious expression. I'm not any good at ESP, but there are a couple people with whom I can communicate without using words. Eddie is one of those people. "Steph, Con has a very different story about what happened tonight and from what I've heard Joe saying so far, he also remembers things happening differently. He's not going to like these reports much is he?"

"No." I lifted my chin. "He won't like them at all. But it isn't the first time he's been upset with me over something like this. You know as well as I do that his memory suffers when he's upset." I put extra emphasis on that last statement and it was followed by Eddie's appraising silence. I locked eyes with Eddie. After a few more moments, he sighed resignedly and stood up from the table.

"You're free to go. I'll call you tomorrow Steph." Eddie was almost out the door when he turned back. "Wait, there's one more thing. I thought you'd like to know that Carl and Big Dog went back to pick up Bob and they took him back to Morelli's." Confusion spread over Eddie's face when Tank roared with laughter again, but he didn't ask. He just left shaking his head.

We took the side exit and avoided seeing anyone else at the station. Brower left in his own car, a shiny, sexy, new, make-me-drool Bentley Continental GT Coupe. Even the lawyers are badasses. The four of us piled into the Explorer and Tank pulled out into the night. Again, Ranger and I sat close to each other in the backseat. I was distracted for a while as I watched Ranger, hoping that he wouldn't slip into the pseudo-zone he had been in during the ride to the station. As Tank slowed to turn onto Slater I realized he was taking me to Morelli's house.

"No, Tank. I'm not going to Joe's. Can you take me to my apartment?" Tank eyed me in the rearview mirror, but didn't say anything. He switched off the blinker and continued on Chambers. Ranger shifted in his seat and moved a sliver closer to me. I saw that he was watching me intently. It was strange. Usually when I'm in a car with Ranger he's driving in his zone or he's hyper-aware of our surroundings. We never sit together. He had barely said a dozen words since we left Spiro's and he hadn't lost contact with me once. After the interview room at the station Ranger seemed much more like he is normally, but still not quite himself. His eyes were almost dancing with feeling. He looked...grateful? _Damn, he's hard to read._ His eyes may have been oblique but his body language wasn't. He held on to me and wouldn't let go. As time passed I began to realize that he _couldn't_ let go. Finding me the way he did had been a shock to his system. I had known that as soon as I saw his face. This was how he was dealing with it. He needed the reassurance of physical contact, the proof that I was still here. My heart twinged and my stomach did a little flip at the thought. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be Ranger, to be a hero. _Is this what it felt like to be needed?_

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt Tank cut the engine. We were in my parking lot. I didn't move to get out right away. Ranger still had his arm around me and there was something I wanted to say. I just couldn't find the words.

Tank turned to look over his shoulder. "Stephanie? Are you ok?"

That's when the first tear fell. I was so overwhelmed by his concern, by everything the Rangemen did for me. All three men suddenly had worry in their eyes at the sight of that teardrop.

"I...I wanted to say thank you, but...but I...I don't have the words." Their expressions softened and it was the final push that had me stumbling over the thin line that separates teary declarations and incoherent sobbing. "You've all done so much for me. Not just tonight, but always. Every time I've asked for help, and many times when I didn't, you've always been there for me. I owe you my life and probably my sanity, what there is of it. I don't know what I would do without you all and I can't even begin to think about how I could ever explain what you mean to me. I just...I just...I...thank you."

In what turned out to be the most unexpected event of the entire evening, Hal got out of the Explorer and opened my door. Without pulling me away from Ranger he leaned into the backseat and wrapped me up in a giant bear hug. I was so surprised I stopped crying almost instantly. He released me without saying a word. Then he moved to the rear of the Explorer to get something out of the back. He returned with a box of tissue and a very sweet smile, handing me the box before climbing back into the front. _Wow._ All I could do was stare.

I must have been staring for a while because I heard Tank clear his throat. "Steph? You still with us?"

I snapped back into focus and remembered where I was and what had happened. Before I could say anything the sight of their shocked faces on Spiro's lawn flashed in my mind. Again, I couldn't control myself. I broke down into a fit of giggles. And the confused looks they gave me didn't do anything to help the situation. Between breaths I managed to squeak out what I thought was so funny. "You...giggle...should ...giggle...have seen your faces...giggle...at Spiro's when I yelled at Ranger. I'll...giggle...never forget the look...giggle...on Hal's face. Giggle. It was better than when I stunned him!" At that point they all laughed with me again. Even Hal; he was a good sport about it.

As the laughter tapered off I let out a long, deep breath. It had been a very long day, followed by a very intense night. I didn't want to think about it anymore. The only thing on my mind right then was sleep, tons and tons of sleep. I shifted my weight to get out of the Explorer but didn't get far. Ranger still had his arm around me. I glanced back at him questioningly.

"Ranger?" I noticed that Tank was also watching him carefully. I saw that the small lines around Ranger's eyes had reappeared. I was starting to really worry about him. I tried my best at a comforting smile and closed the door on my side of the Explorer. Tank and Hal both shot me a look, but I ignored them. I gave Ranger a push and kept shoving him gently.

"Alright, come on, let's go. Come on, come on. Move it." Ranger looked at me puzzled for a moment, but then opened his door to get out and I slid out behind him. He still held my hand. I leaned into the driver's window to speak quietly to Tank. "Can you send someone over with a car for him. I think we both have sets of keys, so it doesn't matter which one or when it's brought over."

Tank nodded and then replied in the same hushed voice. "Steph, keep an eye on him. I've never seen him like this. Make sure he gets some sleep. I don't know when he slept last. And if you need anything, promise you'll call me."

"I promise. I won't let anything happen. I'll take care of him." Tank pulled away and we headed up to my apartment. I think Ranger might have been as tired as I was because we took the elevator. Once inside, Ranger swept my apartment for intruders. I didn't exactly understand why, maybe force-of-habit? Then he just stood in the living room, watching me. He looked unsure of himself and even a little lost. It was the first time all night that we had separated. I had always been frustrated by that blank face he wore all the time, but seeing the pain and doubt on his face was worse. It was torture.

I crossed the room to him and reached down to unclip his gun belt and set it aside on the coffee table. Then I pushed him to the sofa for him to sit. I took off his shoes for him and took off the weapons he wore on his ankles. He just sat and watched me move around him. I slipped into my bedroom to change into a clean t-shirt and panties. I pulled the blanket from my bed and dragged it to the sofa. I asked if Ranger had set his alarm and waited while he checked his watch. I put our cell phones near his gun belt where we could reach them, but I turned off the ringers of both my house phone and my cellular. And finally, I pulled at Ranger's shirt, removing it with his help. I curled up next to him with his arms around me and threw the blanket over us. I was so exhausted I think I was asleep before my head made it to his chest.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


	2. Chapter 2

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.  
><strong><br>****  
><strong>**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 2****  
><strong>**  
><strong>I awoke slowly and with a smile. I was warm and comfortable and I remembered exactly where I was and who I was with. I shifted closer to Ranger's side. Usually being pressed against this much bare Ranger skin has me experiencing several simultaneous hot flashes, but just then it was soothing. I felt safe and relaxed with his arms wrapped around me. They were the arms of a friend. And boy could these arms be friendly. _Well, so much for soothing._ I inhaled a long, deep breath. I will never get enough of his scent. That distinct blend of Bvlgari and Manoso was starting to nudge my hormones awake and I could feel several parts of my body join the party my imagination was throwing. I felt Ranger's chest rise and fall beneath me and could feel that he was awake already.

"Ranger?"

"Hmmm?" He still sounded sleepy.

"Are you asleep?"

"Yeah, Babe." This was followed by a low, rumbling chuckle I could feel through his chest. I let a few silent moments pass before opening one of my eyes. It was painfully bright in the apartment.

"What time is it?"

I felt Ranger shift slightly to check his watch. "9:56."

"9:56! What are you still doing sleeping?"

He gave another small laugh and tightened his arms around me. "I'm comfortable."

"Okey dokey." Hey, I wasn't about to argue. More low rumbles. We sat quietly for at least another ten minutes. Eventually, though, Mother Nature was calling to me and I couldn't ignore her one second longer.

"I have to pee."

"Well then you better get the hell off me." This was accompanied by a great deal of rumbling laughter. He loosened his hold on me and I shot up to make a mad dash for the bathroom. When I returned, the blanket had been folded and was back on my bed. I could smell coffee brewing as Ranger came out of the kitchen to sit on the sofa again. He bent down and was putting on his boots, but remained shirtless. I stood in the doorway watching the muscles in his arms and shoulders work as he pulled his laces. I let my mind wander, thinking about how smooth and firm his muscled back felt and about the weight and warmth of his shoulders the night before when he had curled into my lap for comfort. I smiled at the memory; it was the kind of moment you keep with you forever. It had been a small crack in his armor, a tear in Batman's cape. It made him real. It made him human. I'd always known he wasn't a superhero, but it wasn't until that moment that I had felt it. I could _feel_ his imperfection. And yet somehow that seemed to make him all the more perfect. I felt a lump growing in the back of my throat and almost choked when I was startled back to the present. I had been staring.

"See something you like, Babe?" I was suddenly very aware that I was without pants at the moment. He was staring right back at me with his wolf grin firmly in place. I didn't see any of the insecurity or uncertainty that had been in his eyes the night before. My Ranger was back. _Whoa Steph, wait a minute. My Ranger? Where did that come from? You know better. Ranger didn't belong to anyone._ My mind must have wandered off again, because the next thing I knew I was pulled into a delicious, Ranger hug, correction: a delicious, shirtless, Ranger hug. I swam in his scent for a while, gently rubbing my cheek on his chest. I pulled away to look up at his eyes. No creases, no pain. I spoke softly, barely able to keep the desire from my voice. "Are you ok?"

His lips curved slightly and his eyes darkened. He lifted me into a mind-numbing kiss. Sparks exploded behind my eyes and liquid fire shot through me all the way to my toes. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. With unsteady breaths he whispered against my lips. "Never better."

We were standing together catching our breath when someone knocked on my door. "Damn," I whispered back. He laughed quietly and reached for his shirt while I checked the peephole. Glancing back to make sure Ranger was fully clothed, I opened my door. Eddie was out of uniform, probably off work that morning, and was carrying a Tasty Pastry bag. He smiled and headed straight to the kitchen.

"I took a wild guess that you'd be back here today. And I knew that if you were you wouldn't have any food in the place." Eddie came out of the kitchen with the coffee pot and a plate filled with donuts. He stopped when he caught sight of Ranger. Then he looked me up and down with raised eyebrows. _Shit, I forgot. No pants. I should have stopped to make sure __**I**__ was fully clothed before I let him in._ I scraped together what dignity I could and ignored him, crossing the room to look out my window.

"They left the Turbo. Do you have your keys?"

"Babe?" He had a half smile. Of course he had his keys. Ranger was always prepared. He wasn't exactly the type of person who lost or forgot his keys. I mentally frowned and pouted a little. I bet he'd never been locked out of anything. Not that it would matter; he'd just pick the lock.

"Doesn't hurt to ask," I told him prissily.

"Tank and Hal have today, tomorrow, and the next off of work. So do you. I don't want to see you at your desk, but you need to make it to the range sometime tomorrow. If I'm not around get Lester or Ram to help you. The Ducati is still yours. It's in the garage, but someone will bring it here if you need it. Call me if you need anything else." As he spoke he moved towards the door.

I followed him and caught his arm before he could leave. When he turned back to me I reached up to cup his face between my hands. I looked into his eyes one last time trying to convince myself all was well again. He looked right back into my own eyes. After I was sure that I didn't see any more of the fear or hurt or uncertainty, I pulled his face to me and kissed him lightly on his forehead. "Just checking." I released him, and he was out the door and down the hall, like the wind.

I headed back to Eddie who was sitting at the table with a shit-eating grin on his face. "So..."

I cut him off with my hands on my hips and the best 'Burg glare I could muster so soon after waking-up. "Not one word Eddie, and not one bite of donut either. I'm off sugar and if you dare consume one crumb in front of me, Shirley will be a widow before the day is through. I'm going to get dressed and then you're going to take me to breakfast. And if those donuts aren't wrapped up and out of my sight when I get back you're going to _wish_ you were dead before the day is through."

Eddie and I had a late breakfast at the Tip Top Cafe. We talked lightly as we ate. I asked after his family and he asked after mine. When he steered the conversation to more serious matters, he didn't lose his friendly tone. He'd accepted our statements at the station, but he needed to hear the "unofficial" version of the story. He was trying to gather evidence and some of it wasn't adding up. I knew why he was asking. If he didn't know all the facts, he couldn't help. Neither of us spoke about what we both knew was happening. He was trying to figure out which evidence to keep and which evidence would be "misplaced." My guilt coiled around me and tightened its grip. Eddie was a good cop, a great man, and a best friend. I hated that he had to do such things on my account. He knew that I hated it and tried changing the subject as soon as possible. I love my friends.

His first attempt at distraction was pretty successful. He asked about Ranger. I refused to answer his questions, simply explaining that I had had an awful day and being alone in my apartment hadn't felt like a good idea. He seemed to accept that and changed subjects again, this time probably more for his own comfort than for mine.

He was curious about my sugar-free state of affairs. I recounted the wedding cake fiasco at my parents' house and explained about the tippling. The smile on his face was wicked and I had the strange feeling that soon there would be a new betting pool down at the station. When will Stephanie finally crack and have a donut? Will it be after finding the next dead body? Will she be covered in garbage when she breaks down? Will the donut explode? The humiliating possibilities were endless. Shit, I hate cop humor.

Eddie dropped me off at the RangeMan garage so that I could pick up the Duc. I wanted to go upstairs to see who was on duty, but I knew that once I was there I would want to stay and work. It would be better to make a quick exit. I smiled and gave a finger wave to the camera before motoring out of there.

Back at my apartment I sat quietly with a beer trying to decide how to spend the rest of the day, as well as the next, and the next. Three whole days, that's more than enough time to go stir crazy.

Dinner with my parents was a given; if I couldn't have cake I was going to need some lasagna or pot roast. I also needed to get over to Joe's at some point. I was missing Rex already and almost all of my clothes were there. Joe seemed capable enough at the station, and since he was back to work already, I didn't feel bad about leaving him on his own. His leg was healing quickly. There wasn't anything I did for him that couldn't be accomplished just as easily, and probably with much more skill, by a daily visit from his mother. Well there was one thing, but it was not happening. The problem would be getting in and out of Joe's house without having to see Joe. I'd have to give that one more thought later. For the rest of the afternoon, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I needed to talk to Mary Lou. I had some pretty big ideas running through my head and I had a feeling the only person who could help make them sit still was `Lou.

When I reached for the phone to call her I remembered to turn the ringer back on and did the same for my cell phone. That's when I noticed that the red light on my answering machine wasn't lit. I checked the outlet and it was still plugged in and switched on. _T__hat was weird._ I pressed play and the soft, mechanical voice rang out.

"You have fifty-two messages." _What? Holy shit!_ It had finally happened! I had so many messages the little red light on the machine had actually burned out.

"Message one."

"Cupcake! ... Damn Stephanie!" _Damn you too Morelli._ That was followed by six more messages from Joe, all of which were simply variations on the first with a peppering of creative expletives. Next were five blank messages, which could also have been from him, once he had shouted himself hoarse.

"Message thirteen."

"Stephanie, it's your mother. Why aren't you at Joe's? And why aren't you answering your phone? And what's this I hear about a car accident last night? Is the Buick all right? Your father wants to take a look at it."

_Gee Mom, I'm just fine. Thanks for asking. It was only a little fender bender._

"Message fourteen."

"Stephanie, it's your mother. Come to dinner tonight. I'm making pot roast, and since you're not having cake I've made a pineapple jello mold. No sugar."

_Oh, there is a god, and he's smiling down on me._

"Message fifteen."

"Stephanie, it's your mother. Bring Joseph."

_Strike that last bit._

"Stephanie, it's your mo..." Beep! Three messages from my mother are more than enough for one day. I pressed the delete button for every 'it's your mother' I heard, and I heard it five more times.

"Message twenty-two."

"Oh, Stephanie! You have to call me back. Your mother's gone bananas. The phone's been ringing off the hook about Con Stiva. Did he really run you over with your Uncle Sander's Buick? Mabel said that she heard at the deli that he kidnapped you and stuffed you in a coffin. Oh, I hope not dear. I remember when Spiro shoved me in that drawer. That was awful. Your mother's ironing like the dickens, but without a tipple she's as mean as a bull with his balls in a vise! You have to come save me!" Maybe I should rethink my dinner plans. When Grandma Mazur sounds that desperate, it cannot mean anything good. Then there were three more messages from her, each one more frantic than the last. _Oh hell._ I had to go over there. I couldn't leave her like that.

The next dozen messages were from various 'Burg gossips and busybodies trying to not-so-subtly confirm the latest rumors. Apparently the burg was buzzing with talk about Con Stiva. I wasn't interested in hearing any of it. There were three messages from both Lula and Mary Lou; they wanted to know if I was all right and why I wasn't answering my cell phone. There was a similar message from Connie. Mixed in with all of those were a half dozen messages that were just breathing or loud hang-ups, which I also assumed to be from Morelli. The very last two messages were the most interesting, and I was thankful that I hadn't given in and pressed the 'delete all' button, which had been very tempting at about message twenty-nine.

"Message fifty-one."

"Hello. ... I'm calling for Ms. Plum. ... This is Tank. ... Call me." Well, that was different. _Ms. Plum? _What happened to Steph? Why was Tank calling me anyway? And hasn't he ever left a message before? He sounded affected. The next and very last message was Tank's voice again. He was reciting numbers. Then he disconnected. I guess he remembered that I didn't have his personal cell number, but forgot everything anyone had ever told him about telephone etiquette.

Finished with my beer and my answering machine, I dialed Mary Lou. I told her I would be over soon and she grudgingly saved all of her questions for later. Next I called my parents, thankful beyond description that my father answered the phone. I said that I'd be over for dinner and that I'd fill him in about the Buick then. My father is not what you'd call "chatty," so this call was also mercifully short. I thanked the stars when I got Lula's voicemail. Calling Joe was not an option. Some of those big ideas I was entertaining dealt specifically with Joe. I needed more time to think. Maybe after I talk to Mary Lou, maybe I'll call him tomorrow.

That only left the curious messages from Tank. Why on earth would Tank call me? My first reaction was panic. I thought something might have happened to Ranger. It only took me one millisecond to realize how stupid that was. If there was an emergency and Tank needed me for some reason, he would have found me. Plus, I was confused by the "Ms. Plum" stuff. I doubted that the call was about RangeMan business. He would have called from the office, not his personal cell. Besides, he had today off. He wasn't working. I programmed his number into my phone, but ultimately decided that I would also wait to return his call until after I talked to 'Lou.

Mary Lou's house was blissfully quiet that afternoon. The kids were still at school and Lenny was working. We sat on the floor with our backs to the sofa, the way we used to sit and talk when we were little girls. We had even reverted to our childhood comfort food and had an open jar of dill pickles on the floor between us. Pickles, of course, have no sugar. The no-sugar oath was the first thing I explained to 'Lou. She looked skeptical about it but didn't comment. Then I told her about what had happened the day before at Stiva's. I told her the "official" version of events, but didn't want to lie to her. So I was honest about the fact that she wasn't getting the whole story. First she was upset and accused me of not trusting her. But she forgave me when I explained that the true version could cause problems for me and that the less people who knew, the less people who had to lie for me, and the less likely it would be that I'd find myself in the defendant's chair. Plus, I promised that someday I would tell her the rest. She stretched out her guilt trip long enough to get me to promise to sit for her kids sometime in the near future before she finally let the subject drop.

All the rumors addressed and as much of the story told as possible, I was only left with the restless thoughts that were giving my melon a workout. Mary Lou could read me like a book. She's another one of those people who doesn't require words for communication. She knew that whatever I was about to say was important, and she knew exactly what to do.

"Go put those pickles away and wash your hands. I'm going to go grab my color box and see if I can find someone to watch the kids. Grab some beer too." She was perfect. I felt some more shifting and relaxing deep in my chest. Just being around Mary Lou made me feel good. She made life seem easier.

I headed for the kitchen and thoroughly disposed of all traces of dill. I could hear 'Lou on the phone in the hallway. It sounded like she had found a sitter. I moved to tidy the kitchen table just as I heard the music begin in the living room. Metallica.* I danced around the room like a Cossack with a nuerological disorder as I spread paper towels over the table and opened two bottles of beer. Mary Lou returned with a blinding smile and her famous color box.

Growing up in the 'Burg, young girls are instilled with certain priorities. Strength, loyalty, courage; we all keep those high on our list. But pride ranks way up near the top, and Mary Lou's color box was the pride of the 'Burg. In fact, it wasn't so much a box as it was a trunk. She set it down on the table and opened it to reveal small bottles of nail polish in every color and finish imaginable. It worked like a large tackle box, with trays that open up and out and lift up to reveal more trays below, layer after layer. There were hundreds of tiny bottles. She also had all of the supplies needed to do professional manicures. The summer when we were twelve, 'Lou had taken a cosmetology class at Trenton Central and she's been building her color box ever since. I couldn't remember the last time Mary Lou had done my nails, but boy did they need doing. Explosions, target practice, and wrestling in a puddle of fast food, don't really do much for your cuticles. She ran her finger down the bottles, and chose for me a brilliant shade of blue that glittered under direct light. The only way to describe it would be outrageous. A woman would need a bit of moxie to wear this. It was perfect for the conversation we were about to have.

"Right, let's do this. Start talking." Mary Lou put my fingers in to soak as she finished gathering her tools.

"I'm not sure where to start because I don't completely understand what's happening to me. All I know is that I'm different. Something's changed."

"Ok, forget about the how or the when or the why and explain to me _what_ has changed."

"Me. The way I feel."

"How do you feel?"

"Different. Strong, powerful. Actually, I think I feel less than I used to. Less insecurity. Less guilt. Less anger, less stress, less worry. Less fear. Added all together, I feel better. Much better. I feel...ready."

"Ready for what?"

"I don't know."

She took a long, hard look at me. "You look better."

I sighed when I smiled. "The problem is that I don't know what 'better' means. I feel different in a good way. So what?"

"Well, think about it. What do you want? You feel ready. You feel strong. So what are you going to do about it?"

I sat back and thought about the question. It was a good one. Once I really started to think though, it was easy. Deep down I've always known what I wanted. I was just too scared to go after it, or felt too guilty to accept it, or was too stubborn to admit it. Mary Lou drank her beer and waited patiently for my answer.

"I'm going back to Vinnie's."

She wore a big grin that said, _'I knew it_.' But all she actually said was, "Good, what else?"

"I'm not quitting RangeMan."

She nodded. "And?"

"Well if I'm going to be working for both Vinnie and Ranger, then I need to get in shape."

She started working on my right hand. "Giving up the sugar is a good start."

"I'll start running." This received some raised eyebrows and a doubtful look form Mary Lou. "I will. And I'll join a gym. I'll get Val a membership too. She's been really stressed and unhappy about the weight she gained when she was pregnant. If I have someone else with me I'll be more disciplined about exercising."

"There's a new women's gym that opened on State Street. If you join there you can count me in too." I gave her a disbelieving smirk. "What? Exercise can't hurt. Besides, I'll get to watch you morph into a super-badass." That had us laughing. "Ok, so you're going back to Vinnie and joining a gym. What else?"

I thought for a few more minutes, and didn't like the conclusion I came to. "I might as well go whole hog and start eating healthier too." I couldn't hide my grimace when I said it.

"Don't go crazy now. Just start with the sugar thing. Then over time I'll help you learn how to cook some simple meals that make great leftovers. You'd be surprised how much healthier you'd be if you cooked for yourself a few times a week instead of eating at Pino's on an almost daily basis. And don't freak out, I'm not going to turn you into your mother. There's just no reason you shouldn't be able to make chicken and rice for yourself. You have to grow up some time Steph. You can't eat at your parents' for the rest of your life."

"I guess that sounds do-able. Plus, I'll be eating healthier lunches at RangeMan. Combined with the sugar issue, I'll be eating better than I ever have before now."

"What else?"

"Self-defense. I'll take some classes and I'll force Lula to take them too. If she's going to ride with me, I need her to be safe."

Mary Lou stopped working to face me with a serious expression. "Good. You should have done that a long time ago. That goes for Lula too."

"I know. I'll do it first thing tomorrow. Since I don't have to work I'll join the gym too. And I'll buy some real food for myself. I think if I put this stuff off too long I might never do it."

She nodded, switching to my left hand. "Okay. What else?"

"Security."

"Thank god! Finally!" She rolled her eyes.

"I should probably move, but I love my apartment. I'll get motion detectors and a security bar. And if I get another car I'll have Ranger's mechanic make it bomb safe."

"Good. I'm glad. I can't tell you what it's like every time I hear that something of yours has exploded. I think I might worry over you more than I do over my boys."

_Why hello, Guilt, long time no see._ "God, I'm sorry."

"Shut up Steph. You'd worry about me too if you heard someone had firebombed my house. That's what you do when you love someone. You care about their safety and their life. It's nothing to apologize for. I mean what kind of a friend would I be if I _didn't_ worry?"

"Thanks Mare." I looked at her over our hands. "You always know what to say."

"Again, what are friends for?"

"The 'shut up' may have been a bit much..."

"Shut up Steph!" We were laughing again, almost giggling. No more beer for Mary Lou. "So, what else?"

"I'm going to start training with my gun at Sunny's. RangeMan has a gun range that I'm required to use regularly, but I think some independent practice might be a good idea. Those Rangemen can be intimidating sometimes. Plus, everything in the building is monitored. I don't need anyone witnessing and recording my early struggles. I want to be comfortable with my gun. That's not going to happen with all those sexy mercenaries looking over my shoulder."

"Sounds reasonable Steph, but what about Ranger?"

"What about him?"

"Well, hasn't he been helping you all of this time? He seems to have taken quite the interest in you. And now he's even your boss. Isn't it going to bother him that you're doing this all on your own?"

"No. Why should it? He's probably going to have to help me with tons of things anyway, so he won't exactly be excluded. There are some things I'll have to learn from the Rangemen, like spotting tails and picking a lock. Besides, it's going to take a long time before I'm properly trained. Even then I'll need Ranger. I think he'll just be relieved that I'm finally doing something about my safety." Mary Lou nodded, but I could tell that she wasn't satisfied with my answer. She let it go anyway.

"Can I make a suggestion Steph?"

"Of course."

"You should go get a library card and start reading."

"What? Why should I start reading?"

"I think you need to start learning more about your job. You don't have any formal education or training, at least not in this field. So far you've just picked things up as you went along. And don't misunderstand me, Steph. It's unbelievable how far you've come and how much you've done, considering your complete inexperience when you were starting out. But that persistence can only take you so far if you don't have the knowledge to make it work. You should learn about the law and people's civil rights, and about your rights as a bounty hunter. Learn about police procedures and municipal regulations. It should help you avoid that defendant's chair you referred to earlier. Plus, you can learn about all kinds of other things: firearms, surveillance technology, the penal system, forensic science, crime scene analysis, criminal profiling, interrogation techniques, and lord knows what else. Most people who do your job have at least some sort of exposure to those things. Stephanie, I think if you had a fit body and a prepared mind, you'd be fucking unstoppable."

I could have cried. I hadn't realized how much support Mary Lou had always given me. I'd taken it for granted. Her honest and passionate vote of confidence caught me off guard. It was almost a repeat of the scene in the Explorer. I was overwhelmed by the concern and affection, by the open and unconditional acceptance of who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. Her words expelled what remained of my doubts, and those last jagged bits of uncertainty that I had been carrying around with me shifted and fell away. I felt lighter than air.

"I think I will stop at the library. You're right about not knowing as much as I should. I always get other people to help me with those things. I don't really know anything about that stuff. It would d be nice being able to do it on my own eventually. I'll start learning as much as I can, as soon as I can. I guess it's a good thing we have a couple of days off work." I laughed. "It's starting to look like once I go back I'm going to be freaking busy."

"Who's 'we' and why aren't you working?"

"After Stiva's Ranger told Hal, Tank, and I not to come to work for a few days. I love work, but I'm glad I got the chance to do this with you. I needed this break. And speaking of Tank, he called me this morning. No Rangeman ever calls me except for Ranger."

"What did he want?"

"I don't know. He left a message. I haven't called him back yet."

"So who's Tank again?" I retold all of my Tank stories and she remembered who I was talking about. Then I told her about what Tank and Hal had said to me in the Explorer about being worried about me. "He sounds great to me. Call him already." She stood and started packing up her color box. She waved me out of the room as she cleaned. "Go call him now while I straighten up."

I went out to sit on Mary Lou's porch and dialed Tank. He picked up almost immediately.

"Talk." _So much for affected._

"Hi, Tank. It's Stephanie."

"Um, hello. Could you hold for a minute?" A few moments of silence followed. "Hello?"

"Hi, you called me?"

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you." _Really, who'd a thunk it?_

"Talk," I repeated his gretting back to him. I could hear a softly exhaled laugh at the other end and he sounded more relaxed.

"I'd like to speak in person. Do you have time tomorrow?"

"Yep. I have the day off work."

"What a coincidence." I could hear his smile.

"I'm meeting someone tomorrow at Barry's Coffees on State. If you stop by there at one we could grab lunch somewhere."

"I'll be there." He disconnected. I should double-check my contract with Rangeman. There might be some clause that disallows proper greetings and good-byes over the telephone. Maybe I'm in breech of contract? I hope not. I was expecting to score a ride in Brower's Continental at some point.

Mary Lou came out to the porch and sat next to me on the steps. She edged close to me and linked her arm with mine. "Steph, I know you've been doing some serious thinking. You want to talk to me about why?"

"No." Hell, I wasn't exactly sure myself.

"Fair enough," she conceded, "but I think you need to tell me what else is on your mind. I know we haven't covered it all yet."

"I just don't feel like thinking about it anymore."

"Then talk about it. You need to do it sooner or later. Joe isn't going to put this off, so you can't afford to either."

"I know, I know. It's just it was pretty ugly at the station last night. I don't want to hear it anymore. He gets more insulting by the minute. Why should I even talk to him at all? I'll just go get my things when he isn't home."

"You're moving out?"

I gave out a long, slow sigh. "I was never really moved in. I know everyone thinks I was, but it was just to help him with his leg. He was hit by my stalker, after all. And 'Lou, we've barely spent any time together in the past week. He was leaving me notes because we would go entire days and hardly speak to each other. I think I saw him more when we lived apart. That last night in his house, the night before Stiva's, we didn't sleep in the same room. And it didn't even really bother me that we weren't together. We weren't angry at each other, it's just that we didn't seem all that interested either."

"Well he's angry now, and he isn't going to feel any better when he hears that you're going back to Vinnie's."

"That's another thing I don't want to hear from him," I said, throwing my hands in the air. "He just can't seem to understand that I like my job and that it's important to me. I like working. He keeps trying to make me choose between work and him. It doesn't have anything to do with my safety, either. Even after I left Vinnie's he wouldn't stop. He still bothered me about RangeMan, where I just sit at a desk all day. He just wants me to quit work for him. He won't accept the fact that I'm not going to choose him over work."

"So are you leaving him for good? Is this final or are you simply avoiding the confrontation as usual?"

I thought about what she was actually asking. I could read between her lines. She wanted to know if I was serious about everything I had told her today or if I was just being a stubborn coward. All those other times when I was hurt by or pissed at Joe, I had thought that we were finished. Somehow, though, we always end up together again. _So what made this different? Was this time different?_ Yes. It was. Simple as that. I didn't have to spend hours in my thinking position; I didn't need to "discuss" it with Joe. I wasn't going back to Vinnie's to antagonize him. I wasn't staying at RangeMan to be stubborn. This was about what I wanted. Joe would react to it the way Joe reacts to it. There was nothing I could say or do about that.

"No. I'm not ducking Joe. I would prefer to settle the Stiva case without world war three breaking out at the station, but I'm not going to run from Joe." I groaned, contemplating just how awful this situation had the potential to be. "He's infuriating. He's never going to change; so why should I? He's pressured me and manipulated me since I was six years old, and he's hurt me at almost every opportunity. I know I'm not exactly a saint either, but I'm not going to let him control me now because of what I might have put him through in the past. I won't let anyone control me." I shrugged and dipped my head slightly. "You're right about confrontation; I'll avoid it if I can, but I won't plan my day around where Joe will or will not be if that's what you're thinking."

"Have you thought about what you're going to tell him?"

I felt my smile start to grow. "Joe's really fond of ultimatums. I thought it might mix things up a bit this time around if I gave him one. I'll tell him about moving back to my apartment. I'll tell him about working at RangeMan and Vinnie's. And I'll tell him that he has two choices. He can either be a friend who accepts me, supports my decisions, and is glad that I'm doing what makes me happy, or he can fuck off." Of course even the thought of saying that to Joe had me on a slow and steady path to hyperventilation, but a girl can dream right? "I'd like to have a similar conversation with my mother, but I'm not sure I'm there yet. I'll have to work my way up to it." Especially since the thought of that conversation threatened a coronary.

Mary Lou turned to face me. She sat quietly, studying me. It was something new from her, but I'd become so used to it from other people that I didn't flinch. I watched her in return, waiting. I saw her eyes grow bright and her smile was so wide I thought her face might split in two. She launched herself at me and crushed me in a death-grip of a hug. We nearly toppled over and down the porch steps. She gave me a giant kiss and held me at arm's length to shine her smile on me again.

"It's good to see you again Steph!"

"What?"

"You've always been the most clueless and most modest person I've known. I'm not surprised you've never realized." I couldn't tell if that was supposed to be complimentary or not.

"Stephanie, do you have any idea what it's like to be around you?" She held me tight and dragged me to my feet. We were standing in front of each other and I had the strangest inckling that she wanted to grab me and spin us in circles.

"When we were young you were like a force of nature, raw energy. Nothing could ever stand in your way. It was impossible to be around you and not smile. No one could resist. You were like magic."

I stood like a deer in headlights. Mary Lou didn't ever talk like that. She watched me another moment and I could see she was mulling over something pretty serious.

"Over the years life has chipped away at all of that. I didn't realize it until just now. I should have noticed as soon as I saw you earlier." She shook her head a little sadly. "Life had been eating away at you so slowly that I never noticed the difference until it was too late. And even as a worn version of who you used to be, you were still always stronger than most people, still more amazing. I'm not sure what did it; college, the desk job, Dickie, you mother, the 'Burg gossip, then being laid off. It was probably the whole combination. Somewhere in there you faded. I was so excited for you when you started at Vinnie's. It made me nervous, but I thought it would be good for you. It gave you a boost. You become someone I almost recognized from an earlier time. But you were still fading in there somewhere. It was still the 'Burg gossip, your mother's pressure to settle down, Joe and the way you two would leave each other again and again, and those assholes down at the cop shop who can't keep their damn mouths shut."

'Lou reached out and held my hands tightly in hers. She had a light in her eyes that I'd never seen before in my entire life. "But Steph, you should see yourself now. I meant it earlier when I said you looked better, and I know what 'better' means." For a second I thought she might cry. "You look like the old Stephanie, the magical one I knew ten years ago. She was powerful, strong, and ready for anything. God Steph, I missed you! It's good to have you back!"

I sat stunned for a second. It took me a minute to absorb everything she'd just said.

Then I laughed. I laughed like I hadn't remembered laughing in years. _Only Mary Lou. She spends a couple of hours with me and she has me all figured out. I love her._

"It's good to be back."

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please review.  
><strong>[* Metallica - Fight Fire with Fire ]

** Many of my chapters, especially the later ones, contain various citations and footnotes. These are _not essential_ to the story and can be easily disregarded, but I do feel that they enrich it (and I think they're fun). For example, music is an integral part of my writing process. When I write/edit/read my story it has a soundtrack in my head and I've decided to share that with any of my readers who are interested. I have no plans whatsoever to include song lyrics within the text or incorporate the music into the actual storylines, but at certain points there will be citation notes in the text refering the reader to the footnotes. Every song/poem/image/quote I reference is available at a site I've compiled strictly for that purpose and will share with anyone who is interested, just e-mail/message me for the link. **


	3. Chapter 3

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.**  
><strong>**  
><strong>**Stephanie ****Redux - ****Chapter 3**

Working for Vinnie, I have seen my fair share of scary people. I'm not just thinking about Ranger and his Merry Men. I've dealt with all kinds of menacing criminal types too. And even after everything I've been through these last few years, I don't think I remember seeing anything as terrifying as the sight of my mother standing at the door when Mary Lou dropped me off for dinner. The calm happy feeling I had had at `Lou's disappeared and my stomach quaked. She was shouting from the house before I had even closed the car door. Mary Lou burned rubber.

"Where's Joseph? Tell that woman not to drive like a lunatic! What happened to the Buick? Look at that nail color!" She was crossing herself and waving her arms around. I had no idea how she could see the blue nail polish from all the way across the yard, but it pushed her buttons and she stormed back into the house shouting even louder. I only caught pieces of what she was saying. "Why me? ... daughter never gets kidnapped ... hold on to a good man when ... strangle that old witch if she ... well, screw you cuddle-umpkins!" She was in the throws of a full swing, no-holds-barred, Hungarian rampage. Grandma Mazur stood to the side shaking her head as her daughter very loudly, and with much gusto, lost her mind.

My father almost flew out of the back of the house as my mother stompeded through it. He came around the side of the house and along the driveway. His face fell when he didn't see the Buick. I was fixed to the spot as he approached as if he wanted to talk. This was totally out of character and my surprise must have registered on face. He started explaining before he reached me, "I thought I would take a look at the car until dinner was ready."

I felt the urge to pinch myself, or maybe him. Everyone knows he always reads the paper and then waits at the table until dinner is served, no exceptions for thirty-five years. "Is she that bad?" I was starting to feel worse and worse about my decision to come home for dinner.

"Your sister got back from her trip today," he offered as an explanation. "She's here for dinner with Albert and the girls. Your mother's s upset with her."

To say the least, from what I had just seen. Well, that was a reason to smile, even if it was a small one. Maybe Val would get the spotlight tonight.

We could still hear muffled shouting coming from the kitchen. It sounded like Grandma Mazur was starting to get warmed up. We just stood there on the sidewalk next to each other, looking up at our mutual worst nightmare. Trying to think of any reason to delay my entrance, I started talking. "Can you do me a favor after dinner Dad? I need a ride."

"Sure, SweetPea," he perked up a bit at the suggestion. "I can take you anywhere you need to go." I could almost hear his thoughts, _the farther the better_.

"I need a ride to Joe's. There are some things that I want to take back to my apartment, but without Big Blue, all I have is a Ducati. I can't use that to move anything." I could see the relief spread through him. I took pity on him and asked for more. "I have an errand or two you could run with me if that's alright. It shouldn't take more than an hour." Now he was practically beaming, well as far as you could ever describe the sedate man as beaming.

"That'll be just fine. We should be getting back in..." Before he could finish his sentence the storm door crashed open.

"Frank! Stephanie! Get in here; you're late!" I checked my watch as my father and I rushed up the porch. 6:01. Christ, we were late.

When we sat down at the table everyone had their head down and it was silent. Grandma Mazur's cheeks were pink and she was looking pleased with herself. Albert was trembling and white as a ghost. Val just looked tired. The interesting reactions were from Angie and Mary Alice. They sat quietly, resigned, as if they weren't new to stormy dinner tables. My mother was banging things in the kitchen. I heard a plate shatter and then a pregnant pause. She burst out of the kitchen and slammed the pot roast on the table. My father began passing dishes. There was caution in everyone's movements, nervous that one false move would trigger Hurricane Helen. Most of dinner passed in silence. It was an absolute first for the Plum house. The brave soul who finally spoke only did so because the meal was dangerously close to ending.

"That was fantastic, `Elen. Delicious." I hadn't heard my father break the silence at the dinner table...well, ever. In an instant we were all on high alert. Something big was brewing. I felt it in the air. We all watched in anticipation as my mother slowly rose from the table and left the room. The second she was out of sight we heard her break into sobs.

I was the first up from the table and was kneeling beside her on the kitchen floor. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong? I have a daughter who keeps getting shot and kidnapped! She won't settle down with a good man who loves her. And everything keeps exploding! My other daughter skips her own wedding so that she can ride amusement rides and live in sin. My mother is a sex-aholic whose new boyfriend is the leader of the worst neighborhood gang. And my pot roast was dry!"

Everyone sat confused and panicked. In general, the Plum family is not overly emotional. Anger is the one emotion with which we're comfortable. Indignation and frustration come easily to us, and of course there is the ever-present 'Burg/Catholic guilt. The Plum's have guilt in spades. That may be why we're so angry. Crying, however, occurred with far less frequency than blue moons (a pregnant Val being the only exception). We can't handle crying, and it's obvious.

"Mom, the roast was great," Valerie rambled in desperation. Even my mother was taken aback by the stupidity of the comment, and the tears stopped. Unfortunately Grandma Mazur has an even greater flare for disaster than I do.

"She's just going through the change." If Val's response was stupid, Grandma's was suicidal. My mother propelled herself off the floor screeching and lunged for Grandma. She went for the jugular, trying to get her hands around her old, bony neck. My father stepped in the way and caught the would-be assailant. Strange. Somehow I had always imagined this scenario with the roles reversed. My mother collapsed into his arms, defeated and out of steam. We all shuffled our feet and tried to look anywhere but at her while she collected herself. Eventually she spoke.

"Who wants dessert?" Ah, my good friend denial was visiting the Plum family tonight.

Angie and I had bowls of the sugar-free pineapple treat while the rest of the family made quick work of the most enticing chocolate cake I'd ever laid eyes on. I might have enjoyed my own dessert more if it hadn't been for the drool pooling in my mouth. This sugarless thing was still going to take some time to get used to. Eating healthier is over-rated. It's a good thing the table conversation was as crazy and distracting as it's ever been or I might have had a nervous breakdown watching that cake disappear.

"What does it mean when someone's a sex-aholic?" Apparently Mary Alice had paid close attention in the kitchen. Luckily, my mouth was empty when she spoke. Albert was not so lucky. He was choking and quickly turning into a sweaty, puffy, purple snuggy-uggums. Since my mother was the only person who knew any sort of first-aid, she raced to give him the Heimlich. His mouthful of cake literally exploded from him, directly into Valerie's face. As a result, she shot up from the table screaming bloody murder and flapping her arms around blindly. The trio moved back into the kitchen, leaving my father, Grandma Mazur, the girls, and myself gaping. The moment they were out of the room Grandma and Mary Alice were giggling themselves to death. I heard my father let out a very long, deep, exasperated sigh. It was soon followed by a quick intake of breath and a sputtering gulp as Angie proceeded to respond to Mary Alice's unanswered question.

"Sex-aholic is a common term for nymphomaniac. Nymphomania used to be thought of as a psychological condition characterized by a hyper sex-drive and overactive libido, particularly in women. Grandma thinks that Great-Grandma is obsessed with sex." There were so many things wrong with that last sentence my head started to spin. I could see Mary Alice preparing for a follow-up question and decided a swift subject change was in order.

"What did mom say about your boyfriend and a gang?"

"It isn't a gang; it's a social club. She's just riled because he threatened her. She should lighten up."

"Threatened her?"

"She said that you should stay away from those bounty hunters and stop making trouble for everyone. Only he didn't agree. He really likes you. He told her she should be proud that you help keep our streets safe and bring criminals to justice and that it's only an added bonus that you create so much excitement around town."

Sure. Right. Excitement. "But what was the threat? And what does this have to do with his social club?" _And what does any of it have to do with me?_

I was speaking as the rest of our party returned with more dessert. My mother was finally smiling. It didn't last long. As soon as she heard my questions she shot Grandma Mazur a death glare that almost stopped _my_ heart.

"Social club? They're a pack of hoodlums. It's shameful at their age. And I won't have them in this house!"

"What if I join up? You'll have one living here!" The pink tint on Grandma Mazur's face was growing again.

"No I won't!"

I could hear the sirens blaring, the storm warning. It was time for some serious damage control. "Hold on, hold on," I said with pleading hands in the air calling for a halt to the screaming. "What is this all about? I've never heard of this social club. What are you talking about?" None of it sounded very promising.

Val had been watching us all closely and jumped into the fray. We used to take the family dinner table very seriously when we were in high school. We had to or we'd be eaten alive right along side the mashed potatoes. It was the one place we always worked together, sisters on the same team. It was 'us' against 'them'. Neither of us had forgotten, and now she was stepping up to the plate.

"You know about Con Stiva, obviously. Well, his place has been shut down for an investigation and it won't be reopening any time soon. It's upset some of the older folks in the neighborhood. A lot of the 'Burg is going to really miss Stiva. Of course, there is also a whole group of people that won't. They think Con gets what he deserves. People were appalled that he had the Macaroni and Baroni viewings when he was the person who had actually murdered them. Plus, it seems that some of those people are well..." She paused and studied her plate a moment in a manner that told me she couldn't possibly have good news. "Well, they're fans of yours and old man Murphy said he saw you in the Buick and that it hadn't been Con driving and then Lewis told Murphy that he was blind as a bat and a liar and then a fight broke out at the Warehouse and everyone was choosing sides and it was practically a riot and they had to call the cops to break it up and afterward Lewis started his club or whatever you want to call it." She blew it all out in one impossibly long breath and then quickly took some empty plates back into the kitchen. I guess that was all of the backup I was going to get from Val tonight.

"What club? Who's Lewis? What do you mean they're my fans?" I had an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, which was trying its best to claw its way up my throat.

Grandma Mazur was practically euphoric. "Lewis Plonka. He's my new stud. His friend Martin Rheinhold was angry about how some people were talking about you; so they started their club in your defense. They say they aren't going to let anyone give you a hard time. They've got a name and everything. They're just like all those sexy men in black that are always trying to protect you. Now you'll be twice as safe with the Bombshell Brigade."

I'm not positive, because I sort of blacked out at that point, but I think I had a stroke. I was having a flashback. There was the well-lit Warehouse across the dark lawn. I could see the glass doors getting brighter as I sprinted toward them. I could see the crowded lobby as I raced through the doors. The sofas and chairs had been full of seniors that blurred in my peripheral vision as I wrestled a crazed, knife-wielding transvestite. Some of them had looked on in horror while others cheered us on with hoots and hollers. Then the scene morphed and the sofas were gone. I was struggling on the floor with Sugar while a crowd of men dressed in black stood around us. They were all old men with big blue veins on their hands and hair in their ears. They had on tight black t-shirts and SWAT pants tucked into orthopedic shoes. There were guns strapped to walkers and canes. They wore mirrored bifocals and silver studded hearing aids. Panic rose in my chest. I couldn't breathe. Then I was shaking. No wait, I was being shaken. My father was shaking me.

"Steph. Stephanie!" He had his hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me back to the present. I sat aghast. I was numb. Somewhere a group of senior citizens was acting as a self-appointed, geriatric security force. The idea was too hideous to contemplate.

Daddy to the rescue. He held my arm and steadied me as I stood with him. "Stephanie needs me to run some errands with her. We should be going. Can you pack up some leftovers Elen?" My mother jumped up to put together a bag for me and I let out a mental sigh of relief. I had thought that this might finally be the day that I was denied leftovers.

My father led me outside to his cab. "Don't worry too much SweetPea. It isn't as bad as it sounds. You know how your grandmother gets. Where are we headed first?" Dad could be really sweet when he tried.

I slowly refocused on what we were doing and tried to push my thoughts from dessert far far away. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could deny it all out of existence.

"Morelli's house. I could use a hand with my stuff." I knew he wanted to know why I was moving my things out of Joe's, but he would never ask. Rather, he adopted his scolding pensive expression that says "don't think I don't know what's going on here young lady" and waited for any volunteered information. He wasn't going to get any. When we pulled up to Morelli's there were no lights on in the house. The lack of a vehicle didn't mean anything because Joe couldn't drive with his hurt leg and his SUV had been blown up. I couldn't be positive that he wasn't home until I was inside. I really didn't want to wake him up so that I could move out. To say that he wouldn't take it well, would be the understatement of the year. I asked my father to come in with me to help carry things, but actually I'm a wimp and wanted his protection. Morelli wouldn't start a fight if my dad was there. Thankfully, it wasn't necessary; Joe wasn't home. I quickly packed up my clothes and things from the bathroom. Dad took Rex and loaded the trunk with my bags. I spent the ride to my apartment explaining the situation with the Buick to him. He was annoyed. After Rex, my clothes, and the leftovers were safely tucked away in my apartment I decided that there were two more things I needed to do that night.

"Next I need to buy a new answering machine. Then I need to swing by the office to pick up some of my clothes." My father's pensive look made a reappearance at my mention of the office and my clothes, but I didn't have the energy to explain it all. The late night from the day before was starting to assert itself on my eyelids. We bought the answering machine and then stopped at the Haywood building. I went straight up to the sixth floor to see Ella. I retrieved all of my laundry and thanked her for the RangeMan uniforms. She said she would have more for me the following week and that Ranger had already told her about the short shirts. She had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes when she said it.

It wasn't long afterwards that I watched my father pull out of my lot. As I rode up in the elevator, alone, I could feel the day draining away. My shoulders relaxed and I let my mind go blank. I'd spent way too much time thinking. I was due for a major space-out and I was half way there. I couldn't get Grandma Mazur out of my thoughts. I'd never heard of anyone named Lewis Plonka or Martin Rheinhold. I wondered about how and why two of the very few local seniors who aren't native to the 'Burg happened to get together over a shared interest in me.

I was abruptly reined back to earth with a harsh snap as I stepped out of the elevator. Someone was in my apartment. I could see the light under my door. I had just been there with my father and we had not left the lights on. I quickly slipped into the stairway and started climbing. I was cursing myself the entire way for not having noticed my lit windows while I was in the parking lot. I hadn't even checked for unusual cars. I wouldn't have come in the building at all if I had been suspicious. I needed to get better at the safety and security thing, and I needed to do it ten minutes ago. I didn't have a gun or a tazer or defense spray. I didn't even have a bag with me today. Why do these things keep happening? What is it about me that attracts so many weirdoes? This was too soon. I can't go through this everyday. I was starting to panic. Don't hyperventilate. Don't pass out. Hide. Call Ranger.

Crouching down in a dark corner at the top of the stairs I turned on my cell, which had been off since dinner at my parents' house. I hit the speed dial. It barely rang once before he answered.

"Yo."

"Ranger, I need you. Please come get me. I don't have a gun or my spray. All I have is the phone. I can't do this again." My voice was high and trembling. I couldn't hide my panic. I didn't even know if I was making any sense. I couldn't think straight. I was having trouble forming words. I didn't need any more though, because I was interrupted by Ranger's shouts.

"Babe, where are you? What's happening?" Then I heard the door to the stairs burst open several floors below me. Someone rushed down the stairs to the lobby. _Oh god, they're looking for me!_ They saw me pull up with Dad and then I never came home. Someone is looking for me. I should have run away. I shouldn't have hid. From where I was there wasn't a way to get out of there without being seen. I couldn't breathe. My voice caught. I almost hung up the phone when I heard Ranger's voice bellowing out of it. It was too loud.

"Babe! Talk to me! Where are you? Stay with me Babe. I'm coming."

Straining my ears to listen for any tiny noise, I whispered my reply. "I'm at my building, hiding. Someone was in my apartment but now they're looking for me. Please hurry Ranger. They know I'm here. They're looking for me and they're going to find me." I was almost sobbing into the phone. The silence on the other end made me wonder if he had hung up or if he was still listening from his zone. He was coming. He would find me first.

I heard the door creak open just below me and froze. An angled shaft of light flowed up the half flight of stairs between the door and my hiding place. All that there was in the darkness behind me was a narrow ladder that led to the locked service entrance to the roof. The sound of the door opening stopped my heart, but the sound of the footfall on the first step revved it back to life as anger washed over me. This was not happening again. I would not do this everyday with a new villain. I was going to end this. I had set all of my things down and out of the way. I pulled back my fist and braced myself against the wall. I was low to the ground and positioned so that when whoever this psycho was came around the corner, I would see him before he saw me. I was ready to pounce as the shadowed figured loomed into sight. Before he could plant his foot on the top step I was in the air. I flew at him, catching him in the side of the throat with my fist. We toppled down the half flight of stairs. I was kicking and punching all the way. He landed face down with me on his back. I kneed him once in his side before I was flung away. We rolled in opposite directions. He was choking and getting to his feet while I had landed on ass with my back to the wall across the landing. Watching with my eyes wide in horror, I launched myself at him again.

"Omigod Ranger! Are you okay? I'm so sorry! Shit, I didn't know it was you. I'm so so sorry. Are you hurt?"

He had stopped choking but was still holding his neck. It didn't look like he could speak. I sat down next to him on the stairs while he steadied himself. He winced like it was hard to breathe. I was inspecting him for other injuries. There were none. With the exception of his neck, he looked freshly pressed and ready for combat. I, on the other hand, had scratches all down my left arm. I had ripped the knees out of my jeans and my left knee was bleeding fairly heavily. My top had been torn almost completely off and there was a giant bruise already blossoming on my right breast. I had jammed my chest on the railing at some point during mid-flight. Now that I was taking stock, the titty-shot hurt like a bitch. That was going to be extremely painful for at least a week. I needed to ice it. Immediately.

Ranger was watching me look myself over. He hissed in shakily when he saw the bruise. "Did I do that?" His voice croaked and he flinched ever so slightly as he spoke.

"No, these are all from me or the building. Don't speak anymore. Is it safe to go down?" He gave a tiny nod of his head. "Good." I grabbed all of my things and we headed back down to my apartment, in the elevator. No more stairs tonight.

Ranger didn't sweep my apartment when we got there, but I didn't mention it. I pointed to the sofa. "Sit." He didn't hesitate. I hobbled into the kitchen for some cold packs and ice. I gave them both to Ranger. "Suck on those ice cubes. I had a similar injury once. It helps." I kept one of the cold packs for myself and brought it with me into the bedroom. I changed into a tight, sleeveless exercise top. It almost reached the waistband on my pj boxers and was high cut with only a small v-cut collar centered at my clavicle. I shoved the cold pack into the shelf bra and checked my reflection in the mirror. My right breast looked twice the size of my left one. A few readjustments later, it looked three times as large. So I decided to quit while I was feeling extremely foolish. I pulled my first aid kit out of the bathroom and settled at my dining table to clean the cut on my knee. Ranger moved to help me, but stopped at my glare.

"Don't even think about getting up. It isn't bad. I'm fine. I want to know who was in my apartment. And don't say one word. I'll stick with yes or no questions." I paused a second and then laughed. I threw my head back and guffawed a la Ranger. "Imagine that, I want you to keep your mouth shut!" Ranger didn't laugh, but he gave me all 100 watts.

"Did you catch whoever it was in my apartment?" He gave me a long thoughtful appraisal before shaking his head, no.

"Well, do you know who it was?" I received another long pause and then a small smile and nod of his head. Yes. He knew.

It wasn't that surprising when I thought about it. Ranger knew everything didn't he?

"Do you know why they were here?" He gave me the same response as before.

"Are they dangerous?" His smile grew and his eyes darkened. He gave me a very slow, sexy, wolf-like nod of his head. Well I was confused. I didn't exactly think that this evening's B&E was a turn-on.

"And what the hell is that look for? Amused are you?" So my feathers were a little ruffled, sue me. I wasn't having a very amusing evening.

He spoke in a soft, throaty whisper that had goose bumps spreading all over my body. "I was in your apartment."

_What?_ "What?" Okay, so it wasn't a well thought out response. I was surprised. "What were you doing in my apartment?"

He just kept smiling and pointed to his throat. Damnit! I wanted him to talk. I had a hundred questions that I wanted him to answer. He knew it and thought it was funny. I stood up to execute my most deadly 'Burg glare; feet apart, hands on hips, with my weight all on my right leg and my right hip popped out. I saw my own ridiculous chest out of the corner of my eye. No stance could be effective with that cold pack stuffed in my shirt. I reached in to remove it and slammed it down on the table. I repositioned myself into my full glare with a stomp of my foot. I was thirty seconds from having a full-on tantrum. I didn't actually expect to intimidate Ranger, but the show of frustration felt right and seemed fitting. However, I was quickly reconsidering. His smile faded and his eyes became a deep, flashing onyx. I could feel his gaze sweep over me like warm silk, moving smoothly down my body and then returning. I realized how I must look. I had on an old, worn pair of boxer shorts that had been washed until it was almost transparent. My hair was tousled from the fall down the stairs. My top was the palest pink. It hugged my body and was damp from my cold pack, which did nothing to hide my nipples' reactions to the cold. All of a sudden Ranger was moving towards me and I was short of breath. His arm snaked around my waist, pulling my hips to him. He gently brushed his lips along my jaw to whisper in my ear. I shivered at the caress of this breath on my neck and against my ear. He was intoxicating.

"I thought I said that the next time we were in a stairwell, I got to be on top." He brushed his thumb across my lower lip and I sighed into his fingertips. I felt his lips on mine and returned his kiss; deepening it, pressing for access, nearly begging for it. But he quickly took control. This kiss was demanding and full of need. I parted my lips for him, angling my head so that he wouldn't have to. I kept my hands away from his neck, instead moving them over his shoulders and chest. I felt the ripples and contours of his body, running my hands down and then around his waist. He felt so good, every movement, every touch, every point of contact. The feel of his lips hard on mine combined with the delicate embrace of his tongue pulled a moan from deep in my throat. His arms gripped me tighter and my hands slid even lower, gently kneading his tight, perfect ass. I felt more than heard the low growl in his chest. My mind began to fog as my knees weakened. I was lost in this man. Pleasure shook my body when he slid his ice cube into my mouth and massaged it with the heat of his tongue. I couldn't get enough. I pressed our bodies together, hard.

My mind cleared instantly. Pain shot through me as I smashed my breasts into his strong, firm body. I had completely forgotten about my bruised chest. I shrieked into his mouth. He would have pulled away faster if my body hadn't tensed so strongly. I had a death grip on that perfect ass of his. He drew in his own sharp breathe of surprise.

"Babe." His voice croaked again when he spoke, but for very different reasons. We locked eyes and I could see his concern and the unasked question.

"I'm fine. You didn't hurt me," I assured him when his gaze followed my hand to where I protectively held my injury. "I just forgot where I was for a second." I reached back to replace the cold pack in my top. The worry melted from his face and was replaced by a decidedly self-satisfied half-smile. "I didn't hurt you did I?" I asked. "I'm positive Lula would cap my ass if she thought I had damaged your goods."

The half-smile turned into a real one. He kissed me lightly on the lips and moved back to the sofa. I just watched him watching me with his silent, smug grin.

"Oh no, I don't think so. I'm not so easily distracted. And I heard you say 'Babe'. You can speak well enough. So start talking. Why were you here? You scared the shit out of me." I sat in a chair across the room and folded my arms. It was best not to risk temptation. I wanted to hear what he had to say.

"And you scared the life out of me. Why don't you have your gun?" His smile was gone.

"I'll get another one. Now answer my question." I wasn't going to be sidetracked.

Ranger sat forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were cold and his voice held a quiet anger that I wasn't used to hearing. "Why are you walking around without anything to protect yourself Stephanie?" _Uh-oh. Stephanie_. He wasn't messing around. I was actually in trouble this time.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I forgot."

He stood quickly. His hands were fisted. I could see him struggling for control. I could hear it in his biting tone. "You can't just forget Stephanie! Don't you care about your safety? Doesn't it bother you to be vulnerable and defenseless against any nutcase that walks up to you?"

"Of course it bothers me. Do you think I like being a victim?"

"I told you that you are required to carry your gun if you work for me. You're not allowed to forget."

Shit. I didn't like guns, but I liked my job. "I'm sorry." Fuck, was he going to fire me? Now I was standing too. "I won't forget again. Don't fire me. I'll get my gun back. It might be at Spiro's. Con took it at his house, so maybe the cops have it. I'll get it back and I'll carry it. I promise. I'll get my other stuff back too. It's probably all together somewhere. I won't forget again."

His body tensed even more at my words and he flinched when I said Con's name. He wore yet another expression that I'd never seen on him before. Then I was suddenly in his arms again, this time with my back to his chest. He nuzzled into my hair as he spoke.

"Dios Babe, I'm sorry. I'll get you another gun. I'm not going to fire you. You just scared me and I didn't think." I couldn't believe my ears. _Batman scared? He didn't think?_ He always knows everything. Then I remembered. No, he doesn't. My perfect Ranger wasn't perfect. _Dam__m__it_. I needed to stop with the 'my Ranger' crap and remember that Ranger wasn't permanent. He is always only strictly on loan.

"Why didn't you tell me this morning that you didn't have a gun when I told you to go to the range?" His voice and his touch were softer now, warm.

"I wasn't thinking. I guess I didn't notice." I felt him smile against the side of my neck.

"Babe, you need to be more..."

There was no way I was going to let him get away with that. I cut him off. "Oh, yeah? Well you didn't notice the clear lack of my gun or anything else last night. Not at the station, or in the car, or on the coffee table. So you can give it a rest, Mr. Observant." That shut him up. He stood silent for a few minutes. "Ha! I got you!"

I could feel his heart pounding against my back and shoulders as he whispered, "Yeah Babe. You got me."

I shivered again and he kissed my neck just below my ear. I'm not sure how I resisted; it might have had something to do with the bag of ice snug in my shirt. I moved away from him and put some much needed distance between us. Otherwise I might have caved in, stripped him naked and jumped him. With my hands back on my hips I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Come on. Spill it. Why were you here?" He just raised his own eyebrows back at me. "It must be something good if you're avoiding the subject this much."

"You want me to give you something good Babe?"

"Ranger!"

"I brought you food." Huh. Well I'll be. I don't know what response I had been expecting, but that certainly wasn't it.

"Food?"

"Gazarra was right this morning. You were even out of hamster food." I headed for the kitchen with Ranger following. He leaned his hip against the counter the way he always does and crossed his arms. I checked under the sink. Sure enough, there was a new package of food for Rex.

Ranger's eyes followed me around the room as I inventoried the new contents of my kitchen. "So you're my fairy?" I didn't turn to see his reaction but heard his chuckle behind me. I started with the refrigerator. I swept my eyes over everything. Grapefruit, mysterious green leaves, carrots, grapes. No surprises there. Eggs, cheese, fluffy white bread, 2% milk. Unusual for Ranger but staples for everyone else. Olives, mayonnaise, peanut butter, ham. Ham? What? The cabinets were next. Soda crackers, coffee, bran cereal. Expected. Potato chips, ranch dressing, cheese popcorn, diet cola. Whoa! "What gives Ranger?" Again there was no reply from my newfound fairy. "Cheese popcorn and ham? Diet cola? What's going on?" I leaned on the counter mirroring his posture and shot him a look that I meant to convey 'you better stop jerking me around and fucking answer me already.' I think he got the message.

"No point in bringing food you won't eat." Then his wolf grin slid into place. "Besides, it's all sugar-free."

I went through it all in my head once more. Yep. It was all of the sugar-free variety. The next question was, 'why?' Was Ranger being sweet or did he have ulterior motives? Did he actually do this all or did I owe Ella yet another thank you note? Could he have been thinking about my jelly donut hormones? He had seemed enthusiastic about helping me out with those. I'm positive that my face began to blush as I contemplated the ways that Ranger might be of assistance. His wolf grin started to show some extra heat, but he didn't move an inch.

There was more to the story than he was telling me, but I knew that if there was something that he didn't want to say then there was no way I could force it out of him. So I didn't try. I stood where I was to wait him out. I wanted to do it just once. I knew I could outlast him if I tried.

My eyes strayed from his face to his neck. It was slightly pink from where he had held the ice and a faint bruise was visible. I frowned. I couldn't believe I had hurt Ranger. His throat must have been painful if even Ranger was bruising. But that wasn't really the reason I was concerned. I didn't know how it had happened. How had I caught him off guard? I'd never heard of anyone who bested Ranger, but had I been evading him, I would have had plenty of time to make a promising run for it. Something wasn't quite right with him and I hated the thought that it might put him in any danger. He didn't miss the worry in my expression. I needed some serious work on my blank face.

"You alright Babe?"

"Are you?" He didn't answer. There was definitely something off. I made a mental note to talk to Tank about it tomorrow. After a few more minutes of our staring contest Ranger started to look uncomfortable. Technically, I didn't consider it a win, but I decided to speak first anyway.

"You want to watch a movie with me?" His blank face reappeared and I got the message. "Not Ghostbusters." Finally, another smile. We settled on the sofa and watched the opening titles of 'Die Hard.' Ranger sat with his arm around my shoulders and he truly seemed to be enjoying the movie. Go figure.

I woke up in the dark, cuddled in Ranger's arms. The movie was over and the television had been turned off. The only light in the apartment filtered into the room from the small bulb above the kitchen sink. I felt Ranger's slow, deep breathing and realized with more than a little surprise that he was sleeping. _Actually asleep._ Unconscious. Surprise isn't even the right word for it. I was flabbergasted. My slight movement was enough to disturb him though. He was awake instantly. His eyes swept the room for a fraction of a second and then he smiled. With a deep sigh he sank back into the sofa and pulled me closer. It was then that he realized that I was awake too.

As long as we were both awake, I wasn't about to stay sitting. I wasn't spending another night on the sofa. Ranger was reluctant, but eventually released me. I stood and stretched, then headed into the bedroom. I changed out of my clothes and into my usual t-shirt and undies. It was almost three in the morning, way past my bedtime. I took care of my bathroom routine and went out to Ranger. I found him sitting exactly where I'd left him, complete with tense shoulders and blank face. But I saw the fatigue underneath. We locked eyes again and stared for a minute. The silent stare thing was really starting to bother me. Did he come here to stare at me? I'd had enough. I smiled.

"If you're waiting for me to undress you again you're going to be sitting there awhile." Still no movement. "Well, I'm not sleeping on the sofa again tonight. If you want to sleep there, that's your choice. But if you're coming to bed you better make it quick. If I fall asleep and then you wake me up again I won't be happy." With that I turned back and headed to bed. I stopped in the doorway to speak over my shoulder. "And shut off the light in the kitchen or Rex will never forgive me."

I crawled into bed and burrowed down into my pillow. I curled up on my side and eased my muscles from my earlier fall. I was in desperate need of a proper night's sleep. The soft glow in the room disappeared as the kitchen light went out. I waited and listened but knew I wouldn't hear any noise. Then I could sense Ranger in the room. The bed didn't move and there was no sound of movement or breathing.

"I can't sleep if you're just standing there staring at me. Get in already." I flipped back the corner of the covers. There was a slight hesitation, but then I felt the mattress sink and my blanket shift. He laid on his side with one arm under his head and the other resting lightly on my hip. One of his bare feet slipped between mine. The small, innocent contact was so comforting I felt the beginnings of tears pool in my eyes. It was the most intimate touch I'd ever felt. I squeezed my lids tightly shut and concentrated on memorizing the feel of his warm ankle pressed against mine. That was the way sleep found me.

My alarm roared to life at seven the next morning. I reached over and threw it out of the room. It landed with a whimper and fell silent. I sighed and snuggled down under the covers. I was far too comfortable to even consider getting up. Why had I set the alarm anyway? I shifted closer to Ranger and gently ran my foot along his. He'd pulled me closer during the night and now held his arm wrapped tightly around me. I loved the feel of his warmth and his strength in the morning, the texture of his hard muscles when they've been softened by sleep and relaxation. Ranger was better than a teddy bear. Wait. Ranger? Oh right, now I remember. Ugh. It was my first day running. I'd set the alarm to go running. But how could I walk away from my bed while Ranger's in it? I could shock him, that's how. It might be worth it to climb out of bed just to see his reaction when I tell him that I'm going running. Of course if I did that, then I'd have to go run. Crap. Ranger felt me tense and rolled me to face him.

"What's wrong Babe?" His eyes were shuttered. "Having regrets?"

"Regrets? Yeah. I regret throwing us down the stairs last night. My boob smarts!" He was laughing. My pain was funny. "But that's not what I had on my mind a second ago. I was thinking about how much I want to stay in bed."

"Really?" His questioning tone bordered on serious and I don't do serious that early in the morning.

"I'm comfortable." I smiled, parroting his words from yesterday morning.

"Okey dokey," he parroted mine right back at me. He was laughing so hard he was shaking the bed. He thought he was a real comedian. I looked on amazed. He was relaxed, smiling, and laughing. His eyes still held a tiny hint of sleep and his hair was a mess. He was beautiful.

I let out an annoyed sigh. "But it doesn't change the fact that I have to get up." I moved away before he could hold me back. He quickly stopped laughing and studied me. He was not happy.

"Have somewhere to be, Babe?"

"Yep." I jumped up and snagged some sweatpants and undies on my way to the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face and gathered my resolve. _I think I can. I think I can_. I tried, unsuccessfully, to tame my hair. I was dressed and ready to climb back into bed. _No, no, no_. I was going to shock Ranger and then go running. I could do this. I changed the bandage on my knee and did the mascara and lip gloss thing to steel my resolve. I was ready.

Ranger was still in bed. He had sat up with his back against the headboard and his legs out, feet crossed. My eyes went straight to his bare feet as I recalled the way I had fallen asleep. My gaze moved over his wrinkled SWAT pants and lingered on his bare chest before reaching his bruised neck and finally his eyes. He was displeased. I just smiled.

"Can I borrow your gun?" His eyebrows shot up. "I don't want to go out without one." He smiled at that, no doubt finding me very entertaining, and checked his gun before holding it over to me. I tucked it behind my back and earned myself a couple more raised eyebrows. "Thanks." Then I turned and walked out. I knew I was asking for trouble but it was too much fun to resist. I grabbed my keys and had one hand on the doorknob when a larger, stronger hand reached over my shoulder to hold the door closed.

"Stephanie."

I turned to face him and to say that he was upset would be a drastic understatement. "Ranger," I answered sweetly.

"Where are you going?"

I paused before I answered. I wanted to be sure that I had a front and center view for his reaction. One more pause for dramatic effect. "I'm going running. You want to come with?" And there it was, the dumbfounded look from Spiro's. I couldn't keep one small laugh from escaping. That face was becoming addictive. I leaned in to kiss him. I think he was startled, but it only lasted a fraction of a second. He let his hand fall from the door to the back of my neck. Before he could draw me in and short-circuit my nervous system, I seized the opportunity and slipped out the door. I wished I had x-ray vision. I'm sure his reaction to that was priceless.

I headed down the hall without looking back. I knew a bare-footed Ranger couldn't follow me immediately. If he was coming, he wouldn't have a problem catching up. I ran the route Ranger usually took and headed for the track behind the high school. When I got there I realized why it's a good idea to run early in the morning. By that time, there were a ton of students running the track. So I altered my route and made my way up and down the streets of the 'Burg. Then I immediately decided that next time I'd run earlier. It's easier to keep track of my progress when I'm running laps. Plus, I won't have to suffer all of the disapproving glares from the local housewives.

After forty minutes I was drenched in sweat and close to collapse. It was just past eight when I made it home. Ranger was sitting at the table eating grapefruit. He'd showered and dressed. I stopped short when I saw him. It was strange to see him in my apartment being so...domestic.

He sent me 100 watts. "You went running."

"That's where I said I was going." I put his gun on the table and massaged the spot where it had pressed into my back. I needed a better way to carry while running. I'd have to ask Sunny about it later. "Why didn't you come with? I kept expecting you to show up beside me."

"I wasn't ready for a run. I don't have any clothes or the right shoes with me."

"You mean you weren't prepared," I asked with only partially feigned shock. "Ranger, that's so unlike you," I added with a sly smile. He wasn't phased.

"Babe, no one in the world would be prepared to hear you say that you're going running. I had thought that it was one of the signs of the Apocalypse."

I rolled my eyes and swiped the bottle of water that Ranger hadn't opened yet. He just shook his head and went to get another one. So I stole his seat too. I shifted the chair so that my back was against the wall. He shook his head again when he saw me.

"Smartass."

"So what's the deal with you anyway?" I eyed him with undisguised curiosity. "No running. Sleeping in. Grocery shopping. Do you have a twin brother named Ricardo?"

He chuckled softly. "No. It's my day off." I was speechless. Day off? Ranger doesn't take time off work. "What's the deal with you? No sugar. Asking to carry a gun. Exercise. Do you have a twin named Stephanie?"

"I did. She was a lazy wimp," I explained on my way to the bathroom. "So I kicked her ass and she skipped town." I needed to get cleaned up. Mary Lou was picking me up at nine. We had plans to spend the day together and kick-start my new life. I could still hear Ranger laughing from the next room as I closed the bathroom door and started the shower.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.  
><strong><br>****Stephanie ****Redux**** - Chapter 4**

Mary Lou and I stood outside the coffee shop to wait for Tank. I tried to find the best place to watch both the parking lot and the storefronts as well as see the street and a good portion of the nearby alley. I was determined to learn to stay aware of my surroundings at all times and there was no better time to start than now. I glanced around the parking lot, trying my best to assess possible risks or threats. In actuality I had no idea what I was doing or what to look for. Unless someone left me scrapbook-style threats on my door or body parts in my freezer, I was usually inclined to trust them. I couldn't seem to recognize the line between insults from an angry ex-FTA who hates bumping into me in public and the bizarre rants of a twisted stalker who follows me around town trying to set fire to my property and/or my person. I knew from my vast experience that men wielding knives and foaming at the mouth would definitely be a threat and that ominous stares from packs of local thugs in shiny SUVs could be considered risky. Luckily, neither of those seemed to be a problem that afternoon in the parking lot adjacent to Kiddies' Kuts and Brown's Crown Wholesale Pet Supply. Regardless of my surveillance skills, I would likely never have a 'zone' to occupy and Mary Lou and I would always talk to pass the time.

"You still don't know what Tank wants to see you about?" Mary Lou had a hard time grasping the relationship I had with Ranger and the other Rangemen. I wasn't exactly sure about it either, but she just couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the idea that while I knew most of the men and trusted them with my life, I didn't _really_ know them at all.

"No," I admitted, "but there are some things I want to ask Tank. Ranger's been acting strangely. I don't know what's going on with him and there isn't anyone I can talk to about it other than Tank."

"What did Ranger say?"

"Ranger doesn't say anything." Mary Lou's only response was a puzzled frown. "I can't just ask him about it," I sighed. "If you knew Ranger you would understand. That's why I want to talk to Tank. Not that Tank usually says anything either, but I'm hoping I'll have more luck getting him to talk than I do with Ranger." After all, Tank had told me himself that Ranger wasn't acting like himself and to call him if I needed something. I was hoping that still held.

"So what does Tank look like?" Mary Lou asked as she searched the lot again.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her as I explained, "Like a tank." Mary Lou gave me the same dirty look that she had perfected the day I tried to convince her that "knob-gobbling" meant the same thing as "hob-nobbing" and that it would impress her new Professor of English Literature if she knew some common British phrases.

"Large, black, heavy, fully-loaded, Army issue, dangerous, made of steel and iron and probably Lucite or something; you get the idea."

It was Mary Lou's turn to roll her eyes at me. "In other words, I'll know him when I see him."

"No, in those exact words."

Mary Lou shrugged and looked out across the lot again, searching for someone who might be Tank. I stood beside her, unsuccessfully trying to find my 'zone.' The whole idea of it was probably a pipe dream for me anyway. I ended up just mentally recounting our morning's highlights instead.

As I went about my morning bathroom rituals, I had stopped to look in the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight. I looked a little manic. Running had my juices flowing and my hair flying. My trepidation and excitement about the day to come were written all over my face. I was pumped. I ran a brush through my hair and twisted it up into a clip, loose and messy. Today I wasn't primping. Today I was starting over, but as whom, I didn't know yet. So a bit of gloss and mascara for courage, and I was done. I stared into my closet. A long day meant comfortable clothes; blue jeans and a stretchy black tee, add my leather jacket to fight the cold. And done.

Ranger had gone by the time I'd finished getting ready. He'd locked and chained my door behind him in some mysteriously wizardly way and left a note on my table. "It's in the cookie jar. Don't forget it." Oh my, how sweet of him. So... deep breath. Today I actually began carrying a gun. With bullets. Another slow deep breath. I stared at the jar. Okay, one more deep breath. Then, before I could spend any more time thinking, and probably talking myself out of it, I quickly moved to the jar, grabbed the lid and was tucking the gun at the back of my waist. Of course at that exact moment an unnecessarily enthusiastic knocking erupted at my door.

Look, in my defense I'm not used to knocking. I'm used to intruders. Since my heart was already pounding as it was, my reactionary jolt _might_ have been a little exaggerated. The gun went off. It shot a huge hole in the ass of my second favorite pair of jeans. _Damnit!_ The hot barrel of the gun burned my butt crack and I screamed. _Double damnit!_ The bullet ricocheted off my floor and I saw where it had lodged in the wall just a few inches to the left of Rex's habitat and I screamed again. Rex was screaming too. Well, squeaking really but you could hear the terror in that little squeak. Then Mary Lou started screaming in the hallway outside my apartment door. Suddenly my floor sounded like the opening scenes of a B horror flick. I whipped the smoking gun out of my pants and threw it on the counter. Which was when it discharged a second time. This time it hit my cookie jar and shards of pottery exploded in my direction. Mary Lou's screams reached a frantic pitch and mine weren't far behind. Poor Rex. I think he was in shock. I scooped him up in my arms, cradling him to my chest, and rushed to the door. 'Lou was white as a sheet and had already managed to dial 9 and 1.

"Ohmigod Stephanie!" She launched herself at me, crushing Rex between us. His squeaks increased and I pulled away from Mary to hush and stroke him reassuringly. The poor sweet little guy. It took a few minutes for 'Lou and Rex to calm down, and it didn't escape my notice that I didn't seem to require much calming at all. I had certainly been startled, but now that I was over the initial shock, I was breathing normally. _Huh_. Is that a normal response for someone who has just nearly shot off her left ass cheek?

I took a few minutes to explain everything to 'Lou. She was concerned for Rex but she nearly pissed herself laughing when she saw what I'd done to my back pockets. _You see? This was why I hated guns_. That thought brought me straight to another, which was equally frustrating but a bit scary too; I hoped to god that Ranger never found out about this. Come to think of it, I hoped _no one_ ever found out about this. I'd make 'Lou pinky swear as soon as I got out of these scorched jeans. I should also tie a ribbon on my finger, as a reminder to always check the safety on a gun before shoving it down my pants. Even I knew that rule was from Gun Handling 101. I looked at the damage to my jeans. Well, lesson learned. Big time. At least they weren't my work pants.

Our first stop that morning was at Sunny's. After my little mishap in the kitchen I knew for sure that if I put it off at all, I'd never end up going. Sunny's Gun Shop was a low, wide, plain faced store. A simple sign hung above the door and a flyer taped in one of the windows announced the gun range that composed the majority of the building. A buzzer sounded as we made our way through two sets of doors and a caged entryway. Sunny looked up from the paperwork on her desk and moved around behind the large cases to face us. She looked older than I remembered. Her tan had grown a bit leathery and her hair was larger, but thinner. She was sporting make-up that dated back to about 1982 and she was all clad in denim and polka dots. It looked like she was doing a bad impression of a Paula Abdul video.

Sunny surveyed us with a soft, pleasant smile, but a shrewd eye. "Good morning," was her warm, yet wary welcome. It was the perfect impression for a single woman running a gun shop to give to unfamiliar customers.

"Morning," Mary Lou replied a bit too brightly. She was nervous. I couldn't blame her. I didn't want to be there either. Sunny's gaze shifted to me.

"Plum, right?"

"Yeah." I exchanged a glance with Mary Lou. I was a little unnerved that she remembered my name from so long ago. Or perhaps she knew it from the newspapers? The Stiva business was still pretty big news. Whatever it was, I didn't like it. My thoughts must have shown on my face.

"Hun, I remember every single time that sexy man has stepped into my shop." That explains it then. She didn't remember me; she remembered that I'd been there with Ranger. I could see her point. He wasn't easy to forget. "What can I do for you today?"

I walked over and leaned on her counter, palms down. "I have a serious problem."

She leaned in as well but on her elbows. "So tell me about it." I was distracted for a moment, hoping that I had cleavage like that when I was her age.

"I'm a bond enforcement agent and I work for RangeMan."

"And that's a problem?"

"No, the problem is that I hate guns."

"Is that all?" Sunny shook her head a little. "So do I, Honey," she chuckled briefly. "I hate the dentist and changing diapers too, but I'm not going to sit around at home with no teeth and a grandson covered in shit." _Wow._ She certainly had a way with words. And she didn't make me feel stupid. She made sense. "In your line of work it's not a choice, Hun. You have the gun and you know how to use it. Period."

I sighed. I expected to hear something like that from her. I knew she was right. But deep down I think I might have been hoping that she'd tell me about some new amazing way to have a gun without having to actually have a gun. Sigh again. This whole becoming-comfortable-with-my-gun thing was going to be harder than I expected and I already thought it was going to be close to impossible.

I blew out one more big, resigned sigh that lifted a few stray curls from my face. "So, what do I do?"

"That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" She smiled and stood. "You're not ever gonna love your gun. At least I hope not. People who are really in love with their gun usually have some screws loose." She moved to grab a stack of catalogs from the corner of her desk and returned to 'Lou and I. Laying the first one out in front of me, she started flipping through it. "First, before you'll feel secure using a gun, you have to be secure having it. So you have to find a way to carry and be comfortable with it. Tucking it in your waistband is a bad idea, Hun. It's inconvenient, uncomfortable, and it isn't safe." She was right. Less than an hour ago I had found that out all too well. I don't know how she knew I had my gun at my back. "I could tell by the way you walked," she answered my unasked question.

"Oh." I was a little surprised. Was I walking differently? Mary Lou looked confused, but interested. I could see her eyeing some of the smaller, flashier guns in the next case over. Huh, wouldn't that be a pip, as Grandma Mazur would say; Mary Lou was into firearms.

"With your build, I'd recommend a shoulder holster," Sunny continued flipping through the books and pointing examples out to me. "You'd have to wear a jacket or something if you wanted it to be concealed, but it would feel more natural than having a heavy piece on your hip or at your back. Another option is an ankle holster, but that would require a wardrobe adjustment too. You'd have to wear a looser legged pant."

I looked down at my skinny leg jeans. They were too snug to shove a gun up them. But, most of the time I could wear my RangeMan pants to work. That way I wouldn't destroy any more good clothes, right? I'd already lost a pair of jeans that morning. So maybe I could do an ankle holster. Then again, did I really want to be one of those guys who wear their SWAT get up everywhere they go? I mean, most of the Rangemen look good in it, but me? No, I couldn't be one of those guys. I mean, when would I ever get to wear those adorable sandals I bought last Saturday? Certainly not with cargo pants and an ankle holster. I shook off that thought and snapped back to attention. Sunny was still talking.

"You could get both and try to get used to each one on its own or wearing them together. That way you'd be prepared no matter how you're dressed."

Something occurred to me then. "Can I wear a shoulder holster with a Kevlar vest?"

"Hmm," Sunny had an apologetic look, "no, not these. That would depend more on the vest than the holster, but I doubt you'll ever find one that really works with a woman's figure and wardrobe."

"So with a vest I'll have to go with an ankle or belt?"

She nodded. "I'd recommend a belt or thigh holster if you're going to be in tactical gear." She eyed me for a second before adding, "it really depends on the circumstances and type of gun you want to carry. There's no strict rule one way or another."

I thought about it. I looked at her closely and figured that she must be carrying, but I couldn't tell where or how. "How do you carry?"

Sunny reached beneath her top and pulled out a S&W Continental .38. "It straps against my ribs, beneath my breast. I can wear a more flattering top with this holster, but it's custom made."

My eyes must have been flashing a bright, poisonous green at her. I had nowhere near enough breast to hide an entire gun. I'd have to find some other way. I returned to scanning the books. "Do you have any of these that I could try on?"

"Sure thing." Sunny smiled and disappeared into a large cabinet for a few minutes. She returned with an assortment of holsters. I tried them all on. Most of them I took off immediately. They were so uncomfortable. It felt like wearing a harness. Mary Lou was casually trying some on too and commenting on each one like we were dress shopping. I think she was really starting to enjoy herself.

I eventually settled on one of each, but I was still not exactly happy with them. Sunny must have been able to tell. She pulled out another catalog and shuffled through the pages for a moment. Then she pushed it over to me. "Now these are always a big success, but they're also very pricey." I looked down at the book and stopped myself just short of oohing and aahing. Mary Lou did not stop herself. They were purses, and some of them were super cute. I looked up at her with a question in my eyes.

"These bags have different types of compartments on the side or the bottom that are made specifically for holding a weapon," she explained.

Well that was definitely more up my alley. Or at least it was until I scanned the list of prices. Way, way, way out of my price range. Then I tried to imagine carrying one of these stylish little bags with me when I made a pick-up. I just couldn't see it. It would break my heart to see one covered in barbeque sauce and old lettuce or singed beyond recognition. They'd be nice for distraction jobs. I made a mental note; maybe Ranger would invest in one. Of course at that thought I was immediately hit by a wave of guilt. As if he didn't spend far too much money on me already. I decided then to save up on my own and get one. A pocketbook might be the one way I would ever be entirely comfortable carrying a gun around with me on a regular basis. It would be worth the price.

"Could I take this?"

Sunny gave a shake of her head. "No, Hun. That's my only copy, but if you'd like I could call and add your name to the mailing list. You'll get the next catalog when it's printed." She checked the cover. "That's in two months."

"Okay, thanks. I'd like that." It'd take me at least that long to save up the money anyway.

Sunny returned all of her merchandise to its places and pulled out the two new boxed holsters I'd chosen. As she set them to the side for me she also pulled out several packets of information and handed them to 'Lou and me. "So, you ready for step two?"

I looked down at the papers in my hands. They were membership packages to her gun range.

"You won't ever get used to firing a gun unless you get used to firing a gun, and the best way to do that is to fire a gun." There was something so inviting about Sunny that despite the idiotic condescension of the statement, all I felt was appreciation. She was simple, honest, knowledgeable, and sincere.

I squared my shoulders and gave her a nod. "Yes."

I left Sunny's with a twice-a-week membership, two new holsters, and a bit of pride in myself. I was required to carry my RangeMan gun and visit their range twice a week. Now, I'd finally accepted it and met that commitment with one of my own. Training at Sunny's was a promise I was making to myself.

From Sunny's, we were headed for the gym, but since the library was a quick stop and on the way, we pulled into the nearly barren lot. It'd been a while for me, but there was one thing that certainly hadn't changed; not too many people at the library mid-morning on a Tuesday in November. The library was a stark, grey, crooked looking building. No bells or whistles. As we entered, my nose wrinkled at the familiar smell of dusty paper and carpeting and I was hit by old memories. My mother, dragging me along with Val as my sister went about improving her mind and shaping her future. I, on the other hand, would always end up being yanked into a corner by my ear and scolded in angry whispers for trying to ride the book cart, knocking over the magazine rack, or dropping reference books over the railing at the top of the stairs to see which would make the loudest boom. When I was nine I had let a World Atlas fly. The large, heavy book hit the floor flat and made a resounding _thwack_. A very old, very wide woman walking past shrieked and fell, and both she and her books went scattering across the floor. She sprained her wrist and it took two grown men to lift her back up onto her feet. My mother was so furious she outright shouted at me and then had to beg the librarians for thirty minutes to please, please not ban me from the premises. So you can see why I wasn't exactly thrilled to be back inside these hushed walls?

We made our way straight to the front desk and gave the tiny bell a ding. A teenager came out from the back. He was good looking in a homecoming king sort of way, with elegantly disheveled hair and milk chocolate eyes. He was wearing designer blue jeans and a faux aged tee that might as well have said 'I'm a tool' across the chest. This guy reeked of ignorant young male. Literally. He must have been wearing a gallon of that revolting man-boy body spray crap that seemed to waft in the air everywhere I went these days. Who in the world ever decided it was sexy to smell like the backroom at a Wilson's Leather Outlet? I heard Mary Lou groan slightly behind me. When I looked over my shoulder she was already turning to walk away.

"Not so fast." I yanked her back by her purse strap. "This was your brilliant idea." When I turned back to the counter, the teen was leering at me. Yes, leering.

"Hello, ladies." Ugh.

I brushed it off. As if I'm not used to unsavory people. With what I do for a living, I don't come across much else. "I'd like to apply for a library card."

"New in town?" This kid was something else. No better time to start practicing my blank face. I stared at him. He took a step back and retrieved the application for me without another word. I tried to hide my elation that it had worked. Smiling at the end of a blank stare might ruin the effect. Or even worse, it might encourage him.

I quickly filled out the papers and handed them back to him. I saw the recognition in his eyes when he read my name. He eagerly looked up at me. "Welcome Miss Plum. I'm Devin and can help you with anything you need." I didn't like the look in his eye. Suddenly he was the smooth professional. "It will take a few minutes to process your application. Feel free to use the time to browse."

That sounded like a great idea to me; anything that put space between me and the human-pollutant named Devin was a great idea. 'Lou and I took a look around. I even found a book I wanted to start with. When we returned to the counter, Devin leveled an inappropriately intense look at me. "I'm glad you've returned to our library, Miss Plum. Strong, intelligent women can only improve a place." Then he smiled. It was a nice smile. He was no young Morelli, but the boy was cute, I'd grant him that. Still, he was a boy; about ten... okay maybe fifteen years, too young for me. That didn't stop him from trying. The little punk had the cajones to ask me for my 'digits.' An ego boost, but an annoying one. I ignored him and packed up my first book from the library in about 14 years, 'The Feminine Warrior: A Woman's Guide to Verbal, Psychological, and Physical Empowerment' by Al Marrewa. I could use a bit more physical empowerment.

As he handed me my new card, the stink-pot winked at me. "I'll see you in two weeks, Miss Plum," he cooed in a tone of voice that wouldn't impress any female, even those who were his own age.

Mary Lou teased me about it for an hour, or at least the amount of time she can make feel like an hour. Whatever. Once we were back in the car she squealed in an extremely accurate impression of a ditzy high school airhead. "So you think he'll call?"

"I didn't really give the kid my number!" _Gross!_

"No, but it's on your library card application," she laughed. "Your address too."

"Oh, god," I groaned in realization. Couldn't anything ever be easy?

'Lou cruised down State and pulled into a dull strip mall. _Geez, was there anything in wintery Trenton that wasn't dull? _Okay. Macy's holiday sales weren't dull. And Ranger was never dull. He was always dark, clean, and_ ... no, no. Stop it, Stephanie!_ There was a neon purple sign advertising the gym. It was a small - er, make that miniscule - glass storefront sandwiched between the El Pulpo Supermercado and Bernadette's Dry Cleaning & Video Rental.

"Are you sure this is the place?" I asked doubtfully.

"This is the address," Mary Lou replied and strode confidently ahead of me.

As we entered, there was only a low counter, where a register, phone, and various paperwork were on display. Behind the counter was a plain white wall, covered in motivational posters and flyers for fad diets and nutrient supplements. A younger woman, maybe 23 or 24, appeared through a door leading farther back into the building and stood behind the counter. Only a sliver over 5'2", she was short, thick, and muscular; not in the way a man is sculpted with chiseled muscles, but in the way a female volleyball player or fisherman looks like she could seriously kick someone's ass. She smiled our way.

"Welcome to Trim Trenton. My name is Wendy. Can I help you?"

May Lou started talking to her about memberships or some other official junk. I was distracted. There were no sounds of a gym here. None. And there were no other signs of healthy, physical pursuits either. No clanking weights, no pounding music, no grunting. I didn't even smell sweat. Intrigued, I tuned into the conversation for a second. Wendy was rattling off a list she'd obviously recited hundreds of times.

"We have several. Steel is two hours of strength and toning, that's to heavy metal sounds and incorporates interval training. Speed is a high level aerobics course. Then there's 'An Hour for You.' That's a yoga and meditation class with an emphasis on flexibility." I tuned her out again. That was too much for me at the moment. I was too busy wondering where the hell that all went on. It must be behind that door. I stared at the doorway, desperately curious to find out what was behind it. That's when Wendy's next words grabbed me.

"Twenty Hours of Power? Yes. That's still open. A certified self-defense course with CPR training, personal safety information and two lectures by experts in the field. Since the emphasis of those classes is on rotating topics, many women take the class more than once. So the class always fills quickly. I'd recommended signing up for that sooner rather than later."

"We'll take that!" 'Lou nearly shouted. Wendy's eyes widened a moment, but other than that, she simply went about her business as clerk and gave us the information and forms.

By the time we had left the gym I'd emptied my bank account and was driving Mary Lou to distraction with my fidgeting. I wasn't sure if I wanted this lunch with Tank to ever actually happen. I knew only two things. I knew that I wanted to get there first, and I knew that I was as far from sure as anybody could be that I would be early enough to beat him there. If he was anything like Ranger, which he was, he'd already be at Barry's with his back to the wall. _Man alive, what had I agreed to?_ Then the bright idea hit. I'd just screw it, distract myself, and not worry about being on time. Instead I'd tend to my banking problems and go see about getting my job back at Vinnie's. I mean, how upset could Tank be if I was late, really? _Shit. I was such a coward._

"Let's stop at Vinnie's next and let him know I'm coming back." So, with her new directions, Mary Lou turned the van around and gave me a distressed look. She'd never liked Vinnie. _Who does?_ And she liked the bond's office about just as much; or should I say as little? I think it was Lula that made her uneasy. It was understandable. Lula could be... unpredictable. Plus, Mary Lou usually had a few innocent children in tow with her, and Lula was anything but G rated.

As we got closer to the bond's office, I saw those oh so familiar red flashing lights. _Geez, what now?_

"I'm not sure I can get through here," Mary Lou's neck had turned to rubber and she was stretching it at an impossible angle, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. For my part, I didn't even want to know. But I'm 'Burg. What can I say? It's like a compulsion. I had to see too.

'Lou pulled up through the chaotic traffic until we were close enough to finally see something. Lula was standing near the curb. My jaw dropped. Swathed in a white and fuchsia zebra print dress, which was strapless and even shorter than usual, Lula looked a little like Wiley Coyote after he'd detonated something labeled 'Acme.' Half her fuschia hair was gone, she was covered in soot, and there was a panicked look on her face. Bouncing from foot to foot, she franticly glanced in any and all directions for an escape. I didn't know if it was just the presence of all the uniforms and badges or if she'd always been telling the truth about them giving her the runs. It did appear that she might need a bathroom in a hurry.

"Lula!" I called out and waved.

Lula saw me and was basically sprinting over to us before I could even get my hand back through the window. "Shit, girl, where you been?"

"What happened?"

"The fuckers blocked me in! Can you even believe that shit? I got places to be and these cops won't move their car. I was getting ready to ram them outta my way, girl, I swear. Can't they see I can't walk nowhere in these shoes? I need my car!" Lula was talking a mile a minute and flailing wildly. I decided not to illuminate the fact that she'd managed just fine in her heels a moment ago. She wrenched the van door open and jumped in, freezing Mary Lou in a state of disbelief. "What are you waiting for? Get us outta here!"

"Hey, you're full of ashes!" Mary Lou rebutted.

"You'll be full of bruises and pain if you don't move this hunk of junk and get me the fuck outta here! Gun it, Sista!"

Mary Lou paled and hit the gas. Lula was becoming slightly less hysterical as we put some distance between our fender and the crime scene tape, but she was still fairly pale herself, which is a true feat of proportions for Lula.

"Lula," I tried to get her full attention, "what happened?"

"What happened? Damn girl, what the hell didn't happen? You're crazy ass cousin is one dirty, sleazy bastard. That's what happened."

Well, that one was already obvious to anyone who'd had any contact with him, but as far as I knew his fetishes ran just short of explosive devices; so I figured there had to be more to this story. Besides, since when do things catch fire when I'm not around?

"I mean, why are you all crispy?"

Lula looked herself over with a stormy face. "Speaking of crispy, I'm gonna need some fried chicken or ice cream or cake or something. Maybe some barbeque, or pizza? Do you have any donuts?"

"No!" _Ugh! Curse my sugar-freeness!_ Nothing was worse than slow gossip. "Lula, you can have all the fried sugar heavenliness that you'd like, my treat, and you can eat it in front of me, if you would just tell me what happened!"

She glared at me. "Hell, no need to get testy."

Mary Lou and I had both lost our patience. "Tell us already!" we said in unison.

Lula straightened her now deformed hairstyle and huffed, "Fine. Take me to Tasty Pastry." Mary Lou just rolled her eyes and signaled for the turn.

"Ok, so here's what happened." Lula sat forward in her seat, sprinkling a dusting of ashes over Mary Lou's console. She always enjoyed having a juicy story to tell. "I come in this morning, mindin' my own business, just trying to do my job." _Yeah, right. I'm sure that's how this all began._ I refrained from rolling my eyes. "And Connie's got files for me to file and files of skips for me to go get and more files coming in her inbox. We been busy since you stopped bringing your skinny ass 'round. Anyway, she's telling me 'bout her weekend. You know she has that new man, whatshisname? The one that's got no chin. You know." She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, letting us both know exactly what she thought of Connie's new beau. "So I guess he took her some place fancy and all that shit and she wanted me to know all about how much classier her date was than mine."

Stars above, this was going to be one torturous retelling. But there was no point in rushing her, so I sat back to listen. "And she's goin' on and on. I hate that. Don't you hate that? Like I care about every freakin' detail! I just want to know the good stuff, like how big his dong was and if he likes it real kinky and shit." I heard Mary Lou give a little snort of surprise, but I ignored it. "Anyway, I guess Vinnie's got a new bug and he had enough 'cause he sticks his little weasel face out the door and starts yelling somethin' about us not working, which is a crock 'cause I was workin'. I'm always be workin'. Connie's the one that don't ever shut up and is always doin' her nails and crap like that. And Connie's pissed that he's spying. She warned him 'bout that shit, and I told him too! So she gets up and is hitting at his door."

Lula was still going strong as Mary Lou pulled into the Tasty Pastry lot, so I jumped out, figuring I wouldn't miss much and what I did miss I could find out from 'Lou later. By the time I returned 'Lou looked queasy and I was glad that I'd missed whatever it was that caused her to make that face.

Lula made a grab for the box of donuts and kept up her hyper-rate of storytelling around a giant bite of Boston Cream. "And Connie 'bout chokes on her cookies. Vinnie's gettin' all red and rodenty and he got this evil look in his eye. I swear he ain't right. It's like a genetic thing or something, no offense, but people don't get that way. They gotta come that way." I shot her a nasty look, but didn't stop her. She picked up a jelly donut and continued. "Then he just lets it rip and tells her he's boinked more than fifty ladies on that couch. Can you believe that shit? That perverted fucker told us he done the dirty more than fifty times with skanky hoes on that very couch!" Lula was spitting little flecks of jelly all over herself by this point. "Connie jumped higher off that couch than I ever seen anyone jump. I tell you, girl, and you thought death cooties were bad? We were facing Vinnie cootie's here! We were on the other side of that room like that shit was kryptonite. And Vinnie's laughing his ass off so hard I want to cap his ass, but I'd have to pass that leathery chunk of spunk to get to my purse, so I couldn't do nothing! And all Connie's doing is tossing her breakfast in the corner. She was so green I thought she wasn't gonna make it. I had to do something. So I grabbed some of that Lysol Connie stock piles in her bottom drawer and told Vinnie I was gonna disinfect his disgusting ass. Well, that troll was back locked in his office so fast I barely saw him move. What else could I do? I had to exorcise the demons!"

_Oh no_. I had a flash of where this was headed. Flash being the important word there.

"I soaked that bitch and lit it up! Only there was more smoke than I thought there was gonna be. I didn't know that cheap ugly couch was stain resistant with chemicals and shit."

"You burned down the bond's office?" I had this horrible knot in my stomach.

"No! Did I say that?"

"Then what's with the charcoal look?"

"It was all that smoke! It turned the wall black and it was fucking hot! Connie got the extinguisher, but I think she was still confused or something 'cause she just kinda threw it at the fire. Then it exploded and there were sirens and lights and badges." I saw Lula was about to lose it again and I didn't put it past her to dart off into distance just at the memory of how many badges she'd already seen that day. I snatched up another jelly donut and crammed it in her mouth before she could hyperventilate. Her eyes immediately refocused and even seemed the tiniest bit grateful.

"What about Connie then? Is she alright?" I asked. _Who cared about Vinnie anyway?_

"I don't know what happened to Connie. I think she was still there when we left, but I tell you if I was her I'd get my ass the hell out of there. This whole thing is her fault. She might have to bond herself out soon."

Mary Lou gaped at Lula. I know she wanted to point out the fact that it was actually Lula's fault, but I figured Lula had been pushed far enough for one day.

"Well, I'll find out," I said pulling out my phone. _Shit, I'd left it off again. That was a new habit that I couldn't make a regular habit. All those voicemails. Sigh._ I automatically went to dial Morelli, but stopped mid-dial. Mary Lou was watching me, so I played it off by calling Eddie instead. He told me that Connie was fine, being treated for smoke and giving her statement. Then he laughed as he explained the rest. Lula was now wanted for questioning and they'd given out a description of Mary Lou's minivan as the getaway vehicle. But that was _certainly_ not news that I wanted to break to either of my companion's at the moment. Lula could find out about that one on her own. Instead, 'Lou dropped her off at her house. We then headed once again in the direction of Barry's Coffees.

I think I must have gulped or something, because Mary Lou shot me a warning glare and said, "You have to go."

_Damn._ She was on to me.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.  
><strong>** It won't be much longer for those of you waiting, Tank is up next. **


	5. Chapter 5

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

** Varying POV's begin appearing in this chapter, will continue throughout the rest of the story, and are signaled by scene breaks. **

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 5**

Tank checked the time as he turned and parked in the small lot behind Marco's Towing. He had been surprised to see Stephanie already waiting for him when he passed the coffee shop. He was fairly early himself, having left with plenty of time to spare in the event he had to lose a tail or disable a tracking device. If he had to take time away from the job then he wanted that time to be his, and his alone, to use as he wished. He also wasn't thrilled with the possibility that word might reach Ranger of his meeting with Stephanie. He didn't know how well that would go over with "the boss."

He walked up behind the two women silently and stopped when he heard them talking.

"So what does Tank look like?"

He smiled when he heard Stephanie reply, "Like a tank." He could almost hear her eyes rolling. The other woman was familiar, but it took him a moment to place her. Mary Lou, the best friend. He paused, curious to hear Stephanie's description of him. It was all he could do not to laugh out loud when he heard it. He supposed in a way she was right, though he wouldn't have described himself in quite the same language.

He scuffed a bit of gravel with his toe as he closed in on them, announcing his presence as discreetly as he could given the circumstances and situation. Both women spun in unison. Stephanie crouched and tried to kick him somewhere below the belt, which he easily dodged. Mary Lou on the other hand stood straight as a board and screeched like she was having bamboo shoved under her toenails. She was white as a ghost and Tank had never seen anyone's eyes open as wide as hers. When the initial shock passed Mary Lou still stood...well still, and her mouth gaped open as if her scream was continuing on some ultrasonic level. Next to her Stephanie had straightened herself and was posed beside her friend with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes. Tank just smiled and greeted them with a slight nod. "Ladies."

Mary Lou screamed again, but it trailed off quickly with a sort of choking sound. Stephanie, however, was now well-prepared for their sudden spooky shadow. "For the love of god, Tank! What is wrong with you?"

"It's probably the Lucite," he answered with a straight face. "It's unnatural."

Now Mary Lou smiled shakily while Stephanie's jaw fell several stories. Had she heard him correctly? Had Tank just made ... a joke?

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

One. Two. Tank drove a monster of a truck. I had stopped short when I first caught sight of it. It was a giant Lincoln Navigator L 4x4, pure, blinding white with the blackest of tinted windows all around. I think I might have even moaned a little as I settled into the camel leather. Three. Why can't I ever own a vehicle like this? Oh, right. I'd destroy it. Four, five, six. Tank's 'zone' seemed even less active than Ranger's. I wouldn't have imagined it was possible if I hadn't seen it for myself. Seven, eight. He was driving north on Route 1, farther and farther from Trenton. I was chewing my lip and counting the number of rust spots on the vehicles we passed. Nine, ten, eleven. I was sort of nervous. The silence in the truck was starting to make me uncomfortable. Twelve. Oh, who am I kidding? I had no idea what to expect and I was about to pee my pants.

"So," I asked, probably too obviously brightly, "where are we headed?"

"Lunch."

Eye roll. "Sure." Thirteen. I wasn't positive how to talk to Tank, but humor seemed to work well enough last time. If only I knew what Tank might find funny... "Any other details you can share, 006?"

"If I told you..."

"Yeah, yeah. You'd have to kill me, blah blah blah." I looked over at Tank, but he hadn't waivered from the 'zone.' "Well, maybe if you don't tell me what I want to know," I think I heard the almost tangible snap of the disconnect between my mouth and my brain, "I'll kill you first."

Tank cut his eyes to me for a second.

"Or maybe I'll just whine about it," I quickly back pedalled and shrugged, palms up. "I could go either way."

Tank smiled but made no reply. Several more minutes elapsed in silence. Fourteen, fifteen.

"In case it hasn't occurred to you yet, I should tell you that I don't handle the whole 'strong and silent' thing that well."

Tank just kept quietly smiling. Sixteen. It was becoming less uncomfortable and more frustrating. _Must they all do that?_

"I ran this morning." I was determined to get some sort of response out of him, because if he insisted on maintaining the human-statue act, this entire outing was going to be a very long, miserable experience. "All on my own. Aren't you proud of me?"

Nothing. Seventeen. I needed a new approach.

"I know at least three men who have hardcore crushes on you." There was still no reply from Tank, but his smile disappeared. He didn't seem to know how to react to that statement, even if he'd wanted to. I let another few minutes tick by. Eighteen, nineteen.

"Today we found out that Vinnie had sex on the office couch at least 50 times." I didn't get a reply to that, but Tank grimaced with disgust. So did I. "Connie threw up when she heard. Lula set the couch on fire. She almost burned down the office."

I could see Tank struggling against the amusement in his eyes. I was getting closer.

"You know, Lula still dreams about you wearing nothing but tighty-whities."

That did it. Tank smiled before he could stop himself. So I geared up for the final blow. I turned in my seat to look directly at him and said with a straight face, "The first time Ranger ever met my family it was for dinner at my parents' house and Grandma Mazur asked him if it's true that Rangers get dogs pregnant."

And score ten points for Stephanie Plum! Tank was laughing so hard I was almost worried we'd have to pull over.

I watched in amazement, thoroughly satisfied with myself. After that I gave in and we spent the rest of the trip in companionable silence. Tank eventually caught his breath. I stole a few glances at him occasionally. He had a different energy about him now that he'd had his little laughing fit. It was calmer, more settled. I liked it. I could only imagine the reaction this Tank would get in Trenton. He was wearing dark jeans and a crisp, clean white t-shirt. He would be a sight today, pulling up in his Navigator and emerging with that shining smile. No panty would be safe.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

This outing wasn't really developing the way Tank had planned. First, he hadn't been early enough to their meeting. Next, he'd given in to her charms during the drive. He had certainly not meant to have a full on laughing fit. His purpose today was a serious one. Then, he looked even more completely out of place at the restaurant than normal. It was a small, mom and pop run, higher end diner. The large, old sign read 'Zita's Family Table' in red letters, and beneath that the lettering said the same thing again, in Hungarian. He'd chosen the place because it was far away from Trenton, and for Stephanie. He thought she'd like it. He'd been right.

"Hungarian?" she asked with an inquiring smile. She was surprised. She had expected some private dive like Shorty's or maybe something with a down home feel like Big Jim's. She wondered how he knew, but figured it was probably the same covert way that Ranger always knew everything too.

He shrugged and answered the question she didn't ask, "Mazur."

Stephanie gave him a curious look that was followed by more curious looks from everyone else in the place as soon as they walked in. Tank _felt_ out of place there too. He was suddenly wondering why he had ever thought this was a good idea. He was running over his little speech in his head, but the nine hundredth rehearsal wasn't really helping. He was awkwardly fidgiting with his silverware. When he noticed, he pulled his hands into his lap. He mentally coached himself. _She'd listen to everything and see logic. Her temper isn't that bad and she wouldn't overreact to anything or make a scene, not in public._ Then he mentally punched himself. _If he did this wrong and she was upset enough, of course she would. She's Stephanie Plum. That was her MO._

Stephanie was taken aback as she watched Tank grow nervous as they settled in at their table. She could feel the whole thing shifting rhythmicly. Tank was tapping his gargantuan sized foot against one of the legs. He looked as nervous as she felt. She saw him yank his hands away from where he'd been fingering his napkin and silverware and wondered if Tank played poker. He looked like an easy mark right now. She was amused. _Huh, imagine that. Today was just full of surprises_. She wondered if he was like Ranger in a setting like this. Would they sit in silence until she couldn't stand it any longer and started babbling? Deciding to find out, she sat quietly, waiting. He was the one who had asked to speak to her after all. He must have something to say.

He did finally clear his throat and begin. "I wanted to ask... now that you're at RangeMan... um, I'd like you to ... to play by RangeMan rules."

"What?" Surprised, she let the question fly involuntarily. _Was that supposed to make sense to her?_ It had been a rather abrupt beginning to things.

He cleared his throat again and said more confidently, "I'd appreciate it if you cooperated in the future."

"Excuse me?" She asked with an offended air. She couldn't make sense of what he was trying to say. Was Tank giving her one of those oh-so-thinly veiled orders to which, by now, she'd grown far too accustomed? Did all men carry a specific gene for that or something?

"We have a certain way of doing things." He looked all business now.

"Well that's you," was her acidic reply.

"And we do them for good reasons."

"Are you trying to tell me I don't know how to do my job?" _The nerve of this man!_ She was millimeters from completely losing her shit. The last thing she needed was another man dragging her all this way, on her day off mind you, just to tell her what she was _allowed_ to do!

Tank was at a loss. He wished he could start over and maybe begin the entire conversation better than he had. He wasn't sure how to proceed. Stephanie Plum was far from his area of expertise. He needed to regroup for a moment. In the end, he just decided to go with the standard robot routine. At least he knew he was good at that.

"RangeMan protocol states that all men must call in to report all available intel on every case. Teams have to be aware of the status of a case at all times. If they are following up on a lead or actively investigating, they are required to log their plans, be armed, use a company vehicle, and bring back-up. When a problem arises, we all know what we need to know in order to work on it."

She just looked at him in wonder. "Wait. Do I understand you? You want to know where I am, who I'm with, what I'm doing, and why, at all times?"

He hesitated, but then nodded.

Stephanie stared at him in disbelief. _Was he freakin' crazy?_ Her temperature was rising, and her voice rose with it. "Are you freakin' crazy?"

Tank's expression changed like he was seriously considering the possibility.

Just then the waitress decided to show up and they both ordered uncomfortably through the awkward pause in their conversation. The waitress's eyes boggled as she took in Tank and wrote down his extensive request. Even Stephanie hadn't imagined the man ate that much.

Left to themselves again, Tank eventually rallied and refocused. "If you want to trust us, and more importantly, you want us to trust you, then you have to _act_ like you trust us."

"I do."

"You went to Stiva's alone."

"It's not like I ran out there blindly. You know, I don't like being attacked, Tank."

"The point is you ran out. In the wrong direction." Tank was starting to get annoyed at what he assumed was feigned density. "Don't run Stephanie. Stop running off."

"I don't run off!" The sheepish expression was on her face before she even finished the sentence.

Tank shook his head. "Our work is dangerous. Never run _away_ from safety, _away_ from home."

If Stephanie had been standing she might have staggered backwards. Just that single word, '_home_,' was almost too much to handle like that. The statement booming so casually from Tank, the implication being that they shared a common home. So she ignored it. "The other day Ranger was gone to Miami, and I did tell someone. I told Morelli all about it."

Tank was irritated just at the mention of the cop. "You told Hal you were going to get air."

"I took the Duc. Besides, that wasn't even a RangeMan case."

"Baroni was our case."

"Ranger told me as far as he was concerned it was closed."

He groaned under his breath, frustrated that she was arguing about this. "Stephanie, your safety is always our case. You have an open, ongoing file."

"What?" she snapped.

Ah, suddenly it made more sense to Tank. Ranger had been even less open with her than he'd thought. "We've all been working it for years now. Don't you think it's about time you started working it too?"

She bit her lip. She did think so. She absolutely agreed. That was the entire purpose of that very day. She was starting to take these things seriously, more seriously than she ever had. So why was she arguing? He was right. She frowned. That didn't mean she had to like it, though. She hated the fact that she had an 'open file.' She'd never even seen it. Maybe if she'd known that it existed, she would have done a few things differently.

Why was everything with RangeMan, and Ranger for that matter, always so one-sided? She couldn't hang up on him without expecting an ominous late night visit, but he hardly ever did anything else _but_ hang up on her. She couldn't keep anything from him, but he almost never answered her questions and on the rare occasion when he did, it was always accompanied by some sort of flirting or diversion. She was supposed to keep the few personal things that she knew about him to herself, but he could open a file for her – without informing her - and he probably required his whole organization to be briefed on it. _Heavens to Betsy! Did everyone in the universe have to know about all of her business?_

"Fine," was her terse reply.

Tank tried not to look visibly relieved.

"On a few conditions." Stephanie folded her arms at him.

Tank tried not to look visibly despondent. _Shit. So close._

"I want to be let in on things too. I want to be told when I'm being tailed on my personal time." She nodded sharply to punctuate each point. "I want to know when there are bugs or cameras or tracking devices on me. You can't very well accuse me of dodging your efforts to keep me in one piece if I didn't even know you were doing it."

Tank gave her a puzzled look. _Why on earth wouldn't she know?_ "It isn't exactly classified information."

"Don't lie to me, Tank," she bit out.

It was Tank's turn to be incredulous. _Did she think they ran surveillance on her?_ Then a terrible possibility bloomed in his mind. Seeing the displeased change come over his features had Stephanie ready to bolt. She was pretty sure an angry Tank would be almost as terrible a lunch companion as an angry Ranger. He sat up and demanded, "has someone been following you, spying on you?" _That was all he needed right now, a brand new psycho in the mix while he was on mandatory furlough and Ranger had done a disappearing act._

Stephanie stared back defiantly, "you tell me."

Tank just looked at her. "If you want to know who's assigned to you and when, just check the roster."

"And if they aren't there?" she challenged him again.

Tank honestly couldn't believe this. _What was she talking about?_ "They'd have to be if they wanted to get paid for the hours. Getting injured off duty is expensive."

Stephanie blinked. Tank shook his head.

"We aren't the mafia. RangeMan is a business, complete with paperwork and schedules and tax returns. You have to have figured that out by now." It was almost funny. _For god's sake, she works at a desk, at a computer, on files, printing out reports. What did she think RangeMan was? What the hell had Ric told her?_ But of course, he knew the answer to that one. _Nothing._

"Stephanie," he said with so much pity in his voice, it was pushing her thermostat's limits. She did _not_ like his tone. "You're an employee, and have been legally on the books for a longtime. You have open access to the duty roster and equipment logs. You're also a…" he searched for the right words, "an unofficial client, let's call it. You have the _legal_ right to access your own case files anytime you want." He gave her a meaningful look. "Or add to them when anything new develops."

Tank gave her a moment to process that before trying to reiterate the point he had originally had in mind when he asked to speak with her privately. "And if you chose to work that way and brought back-up with you every time you went out in the field, we would never need to assign men to be bodyguards. You would be assigned partners."

Stephanie was considering what Tank was trying to say, but it wasn't computing. It sounded reasonable and he seemed earnest, but she had this squicky sort of feeling in her throat that told her she was missing something here.

Tank saw her thinking it over and decided to press on. "I never did understand why you'd refuse to take a man out with you. You've offically been on the part-time payroll since you began working distraction jobs. If you partnered up with someone when you went out, you'd be working a file. You'd be on the job and get paid for those hours. But when we have to tail you and guard you, you're a client. Our man gets hazard pay and you don't get anything but a headache and then usually kidnapped."

Stephanie glared coldly at Tank. All the columns were starting to add up now and they were making her scream on the inside. He would have flinched if he was the sort of man to ever do a thing like that.

"Let me make sure I'm getting this whole thing right." She took a deep breath trying to keep from raising her voice. Screaming at Tank probably wasn't a fantastic idea. She was pissed but she wasn't stupid. "I either tell you about everything I do, or you'll just assign someone and make sure you find out about it anyway? And no matter what I choose to do, it's going to be costing Ranger money? So really the only choice I have is whether or not I want to accept a paycheck along with all of the control and restrictions that will be forced on me? I can either be a business expense or a kept woman?"

Tank would have paled if he could. _Oh, fuck. Shit, shit, shit! Red Alert! Danger Will Robinson! Danger!_ Stephanie was carrying a gun today. A refreshing surprise at first, but now more of a legitimate safety concern.

She stood and threw her napkin on the table. "Oh, and for your information, this isn't running; this is storming the hell out!" And she was gone.

Tank tried not to panic. _What had just happened?_

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I stormed right on out and into the parking lot, and angrily hitched my bag higher on my shoulder. I had the pout of a lifetime going on and I wanted to be nowhere within a mile of Tank. Or Ranger. Or Joe. Or anything male for that matter. They could all just go and stick their bossy dicks in an electrical socket. I was so done with the whole machismo control thing. I was going to stand on my own two feet if it frickin' killed me! I was working myself into a really impressive rhino rage when I caught site of the Navigator. I slowly deflated. Tank was my ride. And I wasn't exactly sure even how to get home from here. And it was cold outside today.

I heard the diner's door open behind me and turned. There stood Tank, looking unsure. "I think I might have said something wrong."

"No shit, Sherlock." Deflated didn't mean that I couldn't still me mad as hell.

"Whatever it was, it just came out wrong. Please, come back inside."

That was it? No smartass comment about how I had nowhere else to go, or about how I'd enjoy his company more than that of the dirty homeless man who had been intently eyeing me from the far side of the lot? No amusement at my blind march off into a dead end sunset?

"Please," he simply asked again.

I really hated it when they did that. Did they have any idea what it was like when they said that word, looking every bit like a gladiator while sounding every bit like a dejected school boy? "I haven't had any sugar in a while," I said in lieu of apology.

He smiled, but not in a mocking way, "I heard about that."

_Ugh! Everyone really did know everything about me._ "It's been making me a little touchy."

"I noticed that too." This time there was a tiny glint in his eye that did look sort of mocking. I narrowed my eyes at him. It didn't phase Tank. "Give me a chance to explain," he requested. But I wasn't sure I wanted to give in to Tank. That might establish a dangerous precedent. "Our food's ready," he hedged.

_Damn, he was good. I was starving._ He did give me a big grin when that was what finally worked to get me back inside. I marched to the table and tried to ignore all of the stares that were now unabashedly sent our way. One woman in particular was gaping, open mouthed and mid chew. Disgusting. I shot her the evil eye and she choked a bit, abruptly averting her gaze. I heard Tank chuckle. So I sent the same look his way too.

His smile faded and his shoulders sort of slumped, well as slumped as an armored vehicle's shoulders can slump. "I asked to talk to you today because I wanted to ask you to…" Again he looked unsure, like he might screw this up a second time. "You should be working at RangeMan."

"Already am." This second exchange wasn't beginning with much promise either.

"I mean, not behind a desk. You should be full-time and in the field."

I scoffed. "You think I should be on the job as a Rangeman?"

"Yes. Right now you're a contracted employee, hired on an 'as needed' basis. I want you to be full staff."

"Me, a Rangeman?" I gave a small laugh. "No wait, make that an untrained Rangelady."

"The untrained part can be corrected."

"I think I'm still missing something," my words tapered off in doubt. "Shouldn't we be discussing this with Ranger?"

I saw Tank bite back a sigh and thought to myself that he shouldn't have bothered, since I ended up being irritated by it anyway. "Ranger and I are partners in business. Every chain of command needs a head, a leader. Ranger may be my commander, but he isn't actually my boss. The business is ours, split down the middle."

"All the more reason to consult him then." I was starting to feel guilty about seeing Tank behind Ranger's back.

Tank shook his head. "I've always done the hiring. Ranger isn't great with interviews." We both smiled for a second. No, Ranger wouldn't be. "The only exception being you; a fact I'm attempting to correct today."

I don't know why I was as shocked as I was to learn all of that. I suppose I just never thought of Ranger as the type to give up any control. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had seen it happen on occasion; every time he was in the wind for example. He always left Tank in charge. I'd just never given it too much thought. It made sense now. An odd notion occurred to me. Ranger had never told me that he and Tank were co-owners/operators. I'd always got the impression from him that he was head hancho. _Was that like a guy thing?_ It was something I'd have to consider later.

"So, you're offering me a position at RangeMan?"

"Yes."

I scanned his face. He was dead serious. "Why?" I asked.

"You belong there."

I nearly gasped and tried my best not to gape. _Holy tasers, Batman!_ That had come out of nowhere and hit me dead between the eyes. "I don't know, Tank. I don't know if I'm cut from the right stuff for that." _Me a Rangeman?_ I didn't even know what that would entail exactly. I was thrown. I couldn't think straight. This hadn't been what I'd expected at all when I agreed to meet with Tank. I pushed some food around my plate for a minute. "I don't know if I _want_ that."

A light in Tank's eye changed in a way I didn't understand or recognize. He studied me, but didn't reply. We ate in silence for a while. He looked deep in thought. He caught my attention when he set his fork down. "It's an open offer. You'll keep your current contract with us as long as you want it, but think about it before you make a decision." He paused for a moment, considering his next words. I'd almost thought that he'd decided not to say them, but I was wrong. "And when you do, make sure it's _your_ decision and not anyone else's."

The man was a never ending string of surprises. All I could do was nod.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's**** longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**

Lunch with Tank continues in Ch. 6...


	6. Chapter 6

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 6**

Tank and Stephanie both focused on eating, content with keeping their own counsel for a while. But as the minutes ticked by Stephanie's mind was picking up speed and she was starting to amass a pretty long list of questions that she couldn't contain any longer.

"Um," she hesitated, "does Ranger know that you've made me this offer?"

"No." Tank did wonder how Ric was going to take it. He was certain that ultimately he'd get onboard with the idea, but he wasn't entirely positive that his initial reaction wouldn't be problematic. Ric wasn't always predictable when it came to Stephanie. Speaking of which… "I haven't heard from him since I dropped him off with you."

Stephanie frowned. "Not at all?"

Tank watched her carefully. He shook his head, "He's been offline. He called the switch board to order the mandatory furlough for us and Hal. That's it. I haven't spoken to him."

"Doesn't being offline mean that you wouldn't hear from him?"

"No."

"And he never even went back to Haywood?"

"No."

"And not the Batcave either?"

Tank shook his head again, part reply and part confusion. _Was she serious?_ Ric's relationship with Stephanie became increasingly mysterious to him the more he learned about her. He leveled a concerned gaze at her. "Do you know where he is?"

"I don't know where he is right now," she evaded, trying to figure out why Ranger wouldn't have gone home or whether he'd care if she told Tank where he had been last night.

Tank raised a very unamused eyebrow. "But…" he prompted.

She knew Tank wasn't going to let it go, and she hardly believed that this was information with which Ranger wouldn't trust Tank. "Well, I don't know what he's been doing the _entire_ time, but he stayed at my apartment both nights," she explained. She was _really_ pissed at the smirk that appeared on Tank's face. _Men!_ "We didn't have sex!" she snapped. _GASP! _Her hand flew up to her mouth_._

Now she and Tank were both shocked and embarrassed. It was a completely inappropriate outburst. She was mentally scolding herself. '_Where the hell had that come from? I must be losing what little there ever was of my mind. God, I'm turning into my grandmother. Just kill me now.'_ She knew that she must have lost all control over her tongue. Maybe Con had jostled something loose the other night. The crazy verbal anomalies she'd spouted in the past several days would be enough to last a normal, sane person for several months, maybe even years.

After several extremely unpleasant beats in which they stared at each other uncomfortably, Stephanie cleared her throat. Tank didn't know what to say, but he didn't know if he wanted to hear what she had to say either.

"So," she began haltingly, "we're both worried and we'll no doubt try to contact him as soon as we get back to Trenton, but right now, we're eating."

Tank gave an internal sigh of relief. Well, that hadn't been nearly as terrible as he'd imagined. He nodded his agreement and resumed working on the veritable feast spread out before him. He sighed, this time aloud, and looked up again when he heard her next question.

"Can I ask you something?"

Those words were never followed by anything good. "Depends," he answered, trying not to think about all of the frightening places this could be heading. "Is it about Ranger?"

"Yes."

Tank hesitated. "Is it about Ranger and you?"

Stephanie looked uneasy. "Sort of."

"I'd rather you didn't."

Stephanie sent him the exasperated beginnings of protest. "How else am I going to find out?"

"Not my concern."

"But," she needed him to help her with this, "what if it's my concern?" Tank was playing with his silverware again. It distracted her and her incongruous comment was, "Do you play poker?" Tank only blinked in response. "Never mind. That wasn't what I wanted to ask," she regained her purpose and ignored his frown. "I get the impression you're about to try to tell me that you don't like to pry, which I absolutely do not believe is true by the way. Besides, this wouldn't be prying."

"Ranger's personal business is his own. He makes sure of that and I don't interfere."

Stephanie gave a serious mental pout, but kept it all to herself. She knew she needed to try a different tact. "So," she bid, "what if I want to talk to my good buddy Tank about my own business, which has to do with a friend of mine. And that friend's name happens to be Ricardo?"

Tank sat back in his chair wondering when exactly it was that he'd stopped being intimidating. It must have been a recent development, like the last three minutes or so. He wasn't sure how to stop this line of questioning. Stephanie could be stubborn. Then again, so could he. "I'll probably catch the punishment for whatever privacy rules you'd be breaking."

Her brow rose. "Do you honestly think that anyone can give me rules?"

He hoped _someone_ could. Tank smiled. "No comment."

She leaned forward over her plate and poked her fork in the air at him with raised brows. "You think that I can't stop Ranger from giving _you_ shit about something that _I_ say or do?"

Tank sat quiet for a thoughtful moment. "That notion has promise, but I'm not in any hurry to test it out."

"It doesn't need testing," she smirked.

Tank was silent. That was like a trick question. There was no correct reply to that claim.

"Maybe we can have," she smiled wickedly, "an informal arrangement."

Tank raised an intrigued, and somewhat alarmed, eyebrow.

"You'll keep helping protect me from any and all crazies that I butt heads with," she proposed, "and I can protect you from butting heads with one specific crazy."

Tank chuckled. "You'll protect me? From Ranger?"

"Of course."

He smiled and gave her an obliging nod.

_Smug bastard_. She turned to her food and muttered under her breath. "You're the butthead." Then she looked back up. "We're agreed then."

"Did you just call me a butthead," he asked in amazed disbelief. He hadn't been called a butthead since high school.

"I don't know what you're taking about." She waved off the idea as if it was an annoyance. Tank's smile grew, but then disappeared all together as she continued. "Look, what I wanted to ask you about Ranger is if –"

"Ms. Plum, please," Tank interrupted her in a pained tone that was severely close to a whine.

Not even the word 'please' had any effect on her that time. "Ms. Plum?"

Tank swept a hand over his face. Talking to Stephanie was proving to be exhausting.

But she persisted, "the last two nights –"

Tank's hand came away from his face in a slicing motion out to the side. "Have nothing to do with me." His voice was firmer this time. He was getting frustrated.

So was Stephanie. "Just listen to me Tank! I think he's been acting strange, but I'm not sure. I can't really tell anymore." She knew that she was being dramatic, but this was important to her and she didn't care how she sounded. If he could see and hear her worry, maybe he'd be more willing to listen. Maybe he would help her.

Tank could only give a resigned nod. To be honest, he was worried about Ric too.

She was encouraged. "He was only there in the evenings and then… when we woke up in the mornings." Tank looked uncomfortable. Stephanie was uncomfortable too, but forged on after a steadying breath. "It was something I first noticed about him during the whole Slayer mess, but to a much lesser degree. Then this morning and yesterday I saw that it was there too."

Tank was now slightly more interested. "Saw what?

"Something… off. I had thought it had to do with being at his own place. You know relaxing and letting his hair down and all that crap, but now I'm not so sure. I don't know how to describe it exactly. '_Informal_' isn't really the right word for it." She was stumbling headfirst over her tongue. "The thing is… well… is Ranger sometimes… _different_ in the morning?"

The only answer she got was a blank stare.

She searched for the right words and realized that they might not exist. So some others would just have to do. "You've known him for years. Does he normally wake up with his work face?"

"You're speaking in some girly code. I don't understand."

"Because he hasn't been. His zone's gone crooked or something. It's different. Of course it's more subdued in Ranger, less obvious, but if it was Mary Lou I'd describe it as almost," she winced as she said the word, "bubbly."

Tank stared at her. He wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. "You're asking me if Ranger is bubbly in the morning?"

"I," she shrugged, "I guess."

Tank was shaking with suppressed laughter. "And by bubbly you mean?"

"Teasing me, laughing all the time, cracking jokes; it might be normal for other people, but because it's Ranger, he seemed almost silly."

Tank shook harder.

"It's not funny Tank!"

"Yes it is," he outright laughed.

"What if it's him letting his guard down? What if that gets him hurt?"

Tank just kept right on laughing.

"Look, if you tell me that sometimes Ranger acts that way, but then as soon as he steps out the door he's all business, then I won't worry. But if he isn't, if this is new and it puts him in danger than I don't know what to do about it."

And he was still laughing.

"Tank, he can't just goof off."

This only made his laughter increase in volume. Tank had never seen Ric 'goof off' and just _trying_ to picture him doing anything that might be considered 'bubbly' was fucking hysterical!

Stephanie was angry now. She was genuinely concerned for Ranger and he was laughing at her. The things she was talking about were not a laughing matter. "Stop it," she snapped at him. "For fuck's sake, Tank! I punched him!"

Tank sobered immediately. "What do you mean you punched him?"

"I hurled my fist forward and it collided with him," she bit out, still pissed. "He knew I was there and should have been ready, but I managed to punch him."

"Why?" His eyes were wide.

"I didn't know it was him! I thought he was an intruder. It's a long story. The point is I got the jump on him and socked him in the neck. He even had a bruise! When was the last time someone who wasn't a Rangeman landed a punch on Ranger?

"I..." Tank looked horrified, "I don't know. Couple years maybe." Tank turned away from her. He was tense, rubbing his neck. If he had been standing he would have been pacing. When he turned back he looked troubled, very troubled. "Explain," he spoke in his work tone of voice. He'd automatically switched into his '_on'_ mode due to concern for Ranger.

She told Tank everything. (Well, almost everything. She left out the parts about kissing, sugar craving hormones, and bare feet.) He winced when he heard about how she'd found the light on at the apartment and called Ranger in a panic. He wouldn't have liked to get that call either. After the last few days... well they were all a little on edge. But that was nothing compared to his expression when she related their fall down the stairs and the subsequent injuries.

Tank thought the entire thing smacked of Stephanie Plum. Being caught off guard around her was nothing unusual. There were plenty of good men who'd been dragged in over their heads when she was involved. He would know. He was often one of them. But Ranger? It didn't feel right. Tank could think of several reasons that he could have simply taken the hit from Steph. He could have held back so as not to hurt her in the dark. He could have been trying to keep them from falling and not had a way to block or dodge it. Maybe he underestimated Stephanie's ferocity to fight back, though that was admittedly the least likely of all the possible explanations. Ranger was one of the few people on earth who didn't underestimate her.

In regard to Stephanie's questions about 'giddy Ranger,' Tank still didn't feel he completely understood what she was trying to ask him nor what she wanted to hear from him. In fact, he wished he could erase that portion of the meal from his memory entirely. Speculating about why a man who had spent the night with Stephanie Plum would wake up in a good mood was not an intelligent use of his time. No doubt there were lots of reasons, but dwelling on the subject would prove bad for his health. Of that, he was sure.

Stephanie watched him try to process everything she'd told him. He looked uneasy and stressed, but he was otherwise unreadable. "There's something else, too," she offered a tad meekly.

_Mother fucker, there's more?_ He swung wide eyes to her. What else could there possibly be?

"He's been indecisive and," she wondered how she should describe it, "capitulating."

Tank was just shy of glaring at her. "Stephanie, I've heard enough. No more."

She jumped slightly at his tone. He had said it with the kind of finality that put an end to the subject. "Okay," she gulped.

As if fate agreed, the waitress appeared and Tank asked for the check. Stephanie wanted to protest and pay her portion of the bill, but her wallet intervened, pointing out to her the fact that it was empty. So she merely picked at what was left on her plate until it was cleared away. Then they both sat quietly, pretending not to be awkward. Tank did well at it, Stephanie not so much.

The companionable atmosphere was lost, and Stephanie was sorry for it. She and Tank had both had their feet in their mouths, but she suspected that she'd gnawed on hers rather more forcefully. Tank had tried out his message a second time, but she wasn't about to risk that. There wasn't a large enough shoehorn in existence to help her out of this one. Plus, she couldn't bribe him with food to make him listen. He'd already had seconds of just about everything on the menu.

Tank noticed the difference between them as well, but he was glad for it. He'd wanted to speak with Stephanie one on one so that he could, to put it bluntly, size her up. He had his reasons for making a RangeMan offer to her, but he was hoping he might find some final assurance that he was doing the right thing. Instead, he was more confused than ever and he was positive that more talking wouldn't improve matters. Nothing about this meeting had gone as he'd intended. Considering the woman sitting across from him, he should have known better.

The drive back to Trenton was made in silence, and if it wasn't totally friendly, it was at least the relaxed and satisfied silence that follows a good meal. Stephanie's restless mind eventually won out, though, and she had to speak. "Could you take me by the bonds office? The scene should be cleared by now and I'd like to get a closer look at the damage." Tank didn't answer, but she knew enough to trust that he'd do as she had asked.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The fire trucks and most of the police were gone by the time we made it back to the office. Tank pulled up to the curb at the end of the block. One side of the street was still blocked off and there was traffic to avoid. I hopped out and asked him to wait there for me. I didn't plan on being there very long. Glass crackled beneath my feet as I approached. Connie was nowhere in sight and there was only a few straggling on-lookers and curious passers-by left beyond the yellow tape. I peered through the blown out office windows. I coughed a few times, fanning my hand to clear the air in front of me. It was hazy inside the dim office, but I could make out the scene well enough.

The far wall was pure black, with portions of it gouged out at random spots. Drops of grey, ashy water collected in puddles around the room. There was a hollow charred skeleton of a couch, still smoldering slightly. Dust and soot stirred along the edges of the room from the occasional movement of wind. One of the desks was burnt up its side in a trail leading to a small bottle of red nail polish deformed from the heat and the plastic handles and labels of the file cabinet behind it were melted. Singed papers and files littered the floor and every other available surface. The scene was unexpectedly heartbreaking. This office was on my 'home away from home' list. It had been such a large part of my life for so long, it shouldn't have surprised me how I felt at its destruction. But it did.

A sudden noise came from the back office. It was muffled cursing, and I could hear what sounded like Vinnie smashing and throwing things. His own dismay at the property loss was audible.

"Vinnie!" I shouted. For some reason, I didn't want to walk through the doorway. Maybe it was the crime scene tape and the 'unstable premises' signs hanging all over the place. Maybe I didn't want to return to Tank's pristine truck completely covered in ash and other fire related muck. Maybe I just didn't want to be that close to an irate Vinnie. More likely than not, it was all of the above. "Hey! Vinnie!"

He stuck his head out of his door like he always did, as if nothing around him had changed. "What the hell do you want?"

"I'm coming back to work. So get some files ready for me."

Vinnie's reaction was a combination of outrage and relief. I knew that he needed someone back on the job other than Lula or Joyce, but I also figured that of all the days, that day was perhaps not the best time for him to take an old BEA back on the payroll. Not that I cared. I knew the job was mine. He couldn't afford to say no. Especially not now that he was going to have to rebuild the office. He started shouting something after me, but I didn't stick around to hear whatever it was. I headed back to Tank.

Considering how I should spend the rest of the day and where I should go next, I had an idea. It was a bit out there, but I just had a gut feeling that it would work. Climbing back into the Navigator, I pulled out my cell. "Sorry, Tank. Can you wait one more minute. I want to make a call."

I didn't wait for his nod before dialing. I heard the four necessary rings before my answering machine come on over the line. The new machine was still set to the factory default greeting. The robotic voice recited, "The person you are calling is unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone."

"Ranger, if you're there, pick up." I waited a moment. "Please pick up, Ranger." I waited a few more beats. Maybe I was wrong. I was about to hang up when he finally answered.

"Babe?"

"Yo," I greeted him. He chuckled softly, the sound still as uncharacteristically light as it had been that morning. "I could use a ride," I told him.

There was a pause on the other end that I took to mean yes. "Where are you?" he asked.

"The bond's office."

The next pause was more like a hesitation and lasted longer. "Why didn't you call my cell?" he asked with a rarely heard curious tone.

I didn't answer him. I just smiled enough so that he could hear it in my voice and said, "I'll see you in ten." Then I hung up. _Now we'll see how he likes it._ I turned to Tank, who was smiling back at me brilliantly. "He was at my apartment," I announced proudly.

Tank shook his head at me like he couldn't believe I had just done that. And when I thought about it, I was more than a little impressed with myself as well. I'd essentially cornered Ranger into giving up his location. On top of that, I had effectively _predicted_ his location. _Hmm, something to think about._ From the look Tank was wearing, I knew it was probably something for him to think about as well.

I was really raking up the points today. Running, carrying my gun, buying donuts without eating any of them, catching Tank up in a giggle fit, and now uncovering Ranger. _Why was he in my apartment again anyway? Dropping off more groceries?_ There was nothing at my apartment. Even I wasn't there. I nearly lost it at the passing thought that he was there to keep Rex company. I pictured Ranger with his face up close, tapping on the glass. _How cute would that be? _Nah, forget that. Ranger doesn't do cute. I gave myself a shake and returned to reality. Tank was watching me, bemused. I crossed my fingers and hoped to the stars that I hadn't said any of what I'd been thinking out loud.

I held his eye for a moment, hoping that I wasn't broadcasting my sudden bout of nerves. "Are we telling him about our lunch?"

Tank returned my stare with gravity. "Are we telling him you accepted my job offer?"

"No," I answered without hesitation.

"No it is then," he repeated back to me, "not yet."

I did some mental deep breathing. We were agreed then. "We'll keep an eye on him and try to find out what we can. I'm sure he's fine." Tank nodded and I felt better knowing that he had his back. "You should get going," I told him. "He's on his way." I hopped out of the Navigator, but stopped to say one more thing. "And Tank? Thanks."

Tank gave one of those barely there RangeMan nods and pulled away just in time. Only two minutes later Ranger's Turbo slid into a spot in front of the bond's office. It might have been a record time. The next second he was out of the car and stalking his way across the street. He didn't stop until he was almost on top of me, dark and intimidating.

"You hung up on me," his tone was clipped and his features clouded. There was certainly nothing even vaguely bubbly about him. I took a tiny step back. I hadn't thought he'd be this angry about it. Last time it was more like he was supremely annoyed and then I had even snapped at him first. This had been nothing in comparison. "I told you never to hang up on me."

Well, that washed away any minor fears that might have arisen. _More orders? Really_? When were these Neanderthals going to learn? I straightened my shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. "I didn't hang up on you."

He stared back, silent. I didn't know what he was thinking, but I could see that some pretty serious wheels were starting to turn in there. I didn't feel like waiting him out this time. It was chilly outside and I wanted to go. "I called you to ask for a ride. You said you'd give me one. I said I'd see you when you got here. The end. Conversation over. So naturally I pressed the end button on my phone. Simple as that. I _did not_ hang up on you."

His blank face made a reappearance and I wasn't about to stand around, gaping up at it. I turned to look over my shoulder. "You hear about the bond's office?"

He followed my gaze like he was remembering something he hadn't meant to forget. Then he scanned me up and down. "Are you hurt?"

"No," I said, indignantly. "I wasn't even here."

The curve of his elevated eyebrow told me that that was hard to believe. "What happened?"

"Lula set the couch on fire. Then Connie did something with the fire extinguisher and there was an explosion. I'm not entirely sure of all the specific details. I've only heard Lula's version of events."

"There was a report that she made a getaway in an old, blue minivan."

"Oh, yeah," I admitted, "that was me and 'Lou."

"Babe." He hooked his arm around my neck and steered me toward the car.

I curled my own arm around his waist and made a split second decision to continue with the whole 'balls to the wall' vibe that seemed to be the order of the day. If I was going all out, then I might as well go all the fucking way out. "Oh and by the way, just so you know, if I wanted to talk to you I'd do it in person. The phone is a utility. Speaking to you is a pleasure, and it's always better done face to face. So I get it now, alright? Disconnecting when the subject is at an end isn't something to get all upset about. In future, I hope you try to remember that too. It's a stupid thing to be angry over." _Gulp._ I had a tiny flash of nerves that I'd just signed my own death warrant. _How many days is it again before someone is officially a missing person? They measure it in hours don't they? 36? Or is it 72? I know it's something like that._

Ranger didn't reply. He opened my door for me when we reached the Turbo. Now I wasn't sure if I imagined it or not, but I think he closed it more forcefully than he normally did. He slipped into the driver's seat with his usual grace and then slipped just as seamlessly into his usual zone. I wanted to be reassured by it, but I wasn't. It frustrated me as much as it always did.

Despite the frustration, I was determined to keep up my 'not something Stephanie usually does' behavior. It was shaping up well for me so far. But I have my limits, and I had almost reached them when Ranger spoke. "Why didn't you call my cell?"

I would have danced if there had been room in the car. I was having the day of the decade. So I kept pushing the limits. _There had to be some, right?_ I just smiled and looked out the window. If you didn't know me, you might have even believed that I hadn't heard the question. But Ranger did know me. He knew me well. And he was not pleased with me.

"Babe."

"Could we head back to my apartment? I want to pick up the Duc. I have some shopping to do." It wasn't true, but I was new at this. The diversionary tactics involved in dodging questions from Ranger was a talent I'd yet to acquire.

Ranger was quiet for a second. If he was readable, I'd have read him as thoughtful. "I'll take you. You can't take the bike shopping."

"Alright." Crap. That had been a mistake. _Ranger wanted to go shopping? When exactly was it that I'd stepped through the looking glass?_ But I didn't actually have anything I needed to buy or any money to buy it. Now what?

Several quiet minutes elapsed. There was a plan materializing in my mind. I was hoping it worked, because if it did, it might further impress Tank and I'd rather liked doing that. Plus, if Ranger called my bluff about the shopping I was going to be found out in a big way. If he was angry about me signing off the phone first, I didn't want to think about what he'd say if I got caught fibbing to his face. As we got closer to the city center, I prayed that I'd be able to bluff - okay, okay, lie – well enough to make this work.

"Can I change my mind? I still haven't gone to the range yet. I need to do that first." I was mentally crossing every available appendage. There was little chance that Tank would be at the office to see Ranger come in, but I knew that he'd hear about it. I had this uncanny need to assuage his unease about Ranger. Then again, it might have just been a desire to allay my own fears. _Who knows, really?_

Ranger sent me a strange look, but didn't say anything. He knew something was up, but he didn't comment. He just took the turn, heading toward Haywood. "I'll drop you off. You can take one of the trucks when you're done."

It was my turn to shoot him a surprised glance. I assumed he would come in with me while I was at the range. I was hoping that he would. He had seemed to enjoy it the last time. But I guess I was wrong. He wasn't going in that building. And for life of me I couldn't figure out why. _And shit._ Now I was going to have to have to spend time at the range all by myself.

The Turbo purred up to the RangeMan garage, but didn't cut off. Ranger was watching me, waiting for me to get out. I'd never pictured this as a possibility. Ranger was dropping me off at his own building, and if I was honest with myself, I'd have to guess that he'd be headed back to my apartment. Suddenly my life was like an episode of 'The Outer Limits.' _What was happening?_ And after that afternoon, I had an even more disconcerting problem to handle. _What was I going to tell Tank?_

My hand was on the door handle and I was ready to basically throw myself out of the car, just to avoid thinking about any of it anymore, when I heard Ranger's voice. It was softer than I was accustomed to hearing. "When you're unresponsive on the phone and we get cut off, I worry."

_Jumping Jehosephat! _I turned back to him, shocked at the admission.

It was a little fumbled at first, but the kiss I laid on him was too enthusiastic for that to matter. I had launched myself at him and was basically in his lap. He had less trouble with the logistics of it than I did and in no time at all we were in a rather comfortable swing of things. He pulled away before I did and I gave a tiny noise of protest.

He was breathless himself. "Are you wearing a shoulder holster?"

I couldn't contain the laughter that exploded from me.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


	7. Chapter 7

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 7**

When had it happened? When had this shitty little apartment become the only place I felt like I could fully breathe? It wasn't much more than a glorified dorm room. I was sitting in the corner chair, watching the shadows grow and creep across the faded carpeting as dusk descended. There was never enough light in the place. The cabinets were always bare; so were the walls. It was drafty. It had no security. It had a rodent. It had the ugliest bathroom I'd seen since my last stay in a third world country. But I wanted to be here. And as hard as I fought it, I needed to be here.

For a long time, visiting this tiny, simple, empty space was as close as I could get to her. I had to make do with it. I had to imagine her here and not in his home, not in his arms, not in his bed. It didn't always work, but it was the best I could do. I rolled my shoulders and grit my teeth. _That wasn't true._ It wasn't the best I could do. It was just all that I could do. It was all that I could do right now. It might be all that I could ever do.

I knew this place as well as I knew my own apartment, maybe better. I could navigate it in the pitch dark and if I closed my eyes I could smell its scent no matter where I was. Its aroma was an unlikely intoxicating mixture of meat sauce, frosting, and cosmetics. The grating squeak of the hinges on the bathroom door, which she hadn't bothered to oil in all the years I'd known her, was burned into my mind. I'd memorized the cracks in the kitchen tiles and could tell which of the dining room chairs had the wobbly leg before I sat in it. I even knew exactly how many dust bunnies there were beneath her bed at any given time. _That one I'll probably never admit to anyone. I didn't even like admitting it to myself._

It was about noon when I returned to the empty apartment, hoping but doubting she'd be there, and I noticed the bullet holes immediately. There was new damage to the walls in her kitchen. I'd stopped dead in my tracks. Her cookie jar was gone. I just barely managed not to run out of there and start another frantic search, though I'm not sure how. _She would have called_. She called last night. She would have called me again if there was a problem. _Yes, that was what I was trying to tell myself._ It was easier to believe once I discovered that the broken pieces of the jar were in the trash bin. An attacker wouldn't have bothered to clean that up. Even so, it had been an unpleasant day, waiting for her to return. I had little else to think about except how far I must be falling behind at work and whether or not Stephanie was safe.

My heart skipped more than a few beats when I heard her voice call out to me from her answering machine. She'd acted strange all day, right from the moment she woke. And it only got worse later with unusual phone calls and odd declarations. Hell, she'd been acting strange for a while now. Leaving Vinnie's. A cello?

She kissed me today. Twice. She had me off balance.

I don't like being off balance. Maybe having her at the Haywood building all the time wasn't the greatest idea. I let my eyes fall closed for a minute and smiled my 'alone in private smile' to myself. I did, however, like the holster. [*001]

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

My good mood had faded by the time I'd made it to the other side of the parking garage. I hated the range. I hated guns. I hated having to do this without Ranger. I knew I was going to make a fool of myself. At least I was pretty sure that I wouldn't shoot off any of my clothing again. I hoped.

The door leading to the corridor and elevator swung open as I reached for it. I was mid-step at the moment of impact. The force of the blow was mostly to my chest and it threw me backwards several feet. I landed roughly on my ass and then rolled over onto my side, curling in agony. Dark spots appeared on the back of my eyelids. My boob was screaming again. I didn't blame it. It'd seen a lot of abuse in the last 24 hours.

"Fuck, are you ok?" Lester Santos was crouched over me with concern in his eyes. I was lucid enough, despite the pain, to wonder if he was worried about my welfare or his own.

All I could manage was a high pitched cross between grunting and keening. At the sound, Lester's hands were on me. He sank his fingers in my hair to feel the back of my head and was pulling my eyelids open. He produced a flashlight from heaven-knows-where and was flashing it across my field of vision. I swatted him away.

"Stop that. I didn't hit my head." I gingerly sat up. Nothing other than my breast hurt. I had just enough natural cushioning on my ass for this sort of thing. It was a little sad that I knew that from frequent experience. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I can call a medic."

"I'm fine," I gritted out more forcefully and held a hand out for him to help me up. He did and I stood on steady feet, giving him a sharp look to impress my point.

"Sorry, Bombshell. I was coming down to meet you. You're headed for the range, right?"

_How do these guys know these things?_ Even I didn't know that I'd be here. I hadn't decided to come until I was already in the car and on my way over with Ranger.

"Thanks, but I'm all set," I said dismissively. I didn't want his help, or anyone else's for that matter. I opened my jacket enough to show him that I was 'dressed.' His eyes flashed to the gun and then lingered farther south than I usually appreciated while conversing with a man. _Why is it that men don't realize that if they are close enough to ogle you, it means that you're also close enough to him to clearly see that he is ogling you? _I cleared my throat loudly and his eyes flew north to meet mine. I was almost surprised that he didn't blush. His adam's apple jumped abruptly, though.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" he asked again.

I looked down at myself. Then _I_ blushed. I was still protectively cradling my breast in a less than discrete manner. No wonder it had caught his attention. It looked like I was offering it up to him. I quickly removed my hand and pulled my jacket closed. "Yes, I'm sure." Especially now. And I had thought I'd be embarrassed in front of him before, but now I wanted to run from the building. My gaze strayed to the ceiling for a beat. That must have all been caught on camera. My mind fleetingly wondered who was on the monitors to witness that and if he'd have the proper sense of self-preservation to keep it to himself. "I can handle it."

"Never doubted it." Lester smiled. "Just thought you might want some company."

That was the last thing I wanted. "I'm fine," I repeated a third time with exasperation. "Don't you have some more important security things that need doing?" It was rude, but I was dedicated to discouraging him from accompanying me while I tried, for the very first time, to visit the gun range on my own and do it without fainting in the process.

His smiled slipped away and he gave me one of those RangeMan mini-nods before turning and heading back upstairs. I felt horrible. He had come down with the best intentions of helping me. Instead he had knocked me down, been pushed away, was given a little free show, practically scolded for it, and then summarily dismissed in a markedly impolite way_. What was wrong with me lately?_ It must be the stress and the lack of sleep. And the mounting number of knocks and bruises didn't help. Yeah, that's definitely it. It's all of those things. _What else could it be?_

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Bobby Brown watched his friend and partner march testily through the control room on his way to their office. He'd seen the entire episode on the monitor as Plum fell back on her ass and Santos fussed over her. _Please don't call me down there_, he'd thought to himself. He could see from there that she wasn't hurt and he was already having an awful day. It was bad enough that Ranger and Tank had both gone offline at the same time, but then he'd been called in to work all of Hal's shifts for three whole days. Of course, Plum still managed to waltz in this afternoon to make use of the facilities and generally disrupt things. _Terrific._ Now Santos was in a pissy mood and the only other man on shift to help him with control room duties was Ram. He was capable, of course, and was very good at his job, but spending time with him was like passing the day with a hunk of Silly Putty; there wasn't much of interest to him there and what was there wasn't exactly fun.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I made it down to the range without running into any other Rangemen or any other portions of the building's structure. I set myself up in one of the cubicles, encouraged by how much I remembered from my last visit. Lining up my shot and adjusting my stance, I tried to stop trembling. After my first rounds, I reeled in my target to take a look. It took a lot of effort to keep my lip from quivering. I'd barely hit the thing. What good did it do to be comfortable having it, if when I finally found the nerve to use the thing it wasn't even as effective as winging my purse at someone? Especially if the gun was in my bag; it's heavy.

I steeled myself for another go at it. Ranger required this and I had the hardest time saying no to him. My second attempt was better, but not anything that I wanted to parade around in front of people. Hands still shaking slightly, I repeated the process several more times. At first I had slowly improved, but then my aim deteriorated significantly as fatigue crept up my arms.

When I pulled the headset off and waited for my ninth target paper, I heard the footsteps behind me. To both my, and Ram's, unparalleled shock, my reflexes jumped up one hundred and eighty degrees. I grabbed the gun off the counter in front of me and whipped around.

_Click._

It was empty. Never the less, I had just tried to shoot Ram. If the gun hadn't been empty, he would have taken a slug to his upper right chest. At close range. We stood for what felt like a thousand years, but were probably no more than a second or two, neither of us breathing.

My body wasn't shaking now. It was convulsing. I couldn't believe what I had just done. I had tried to kill him. It might have been a gut reaction, more bodily response than thought, but did that make it any less of a nightmare? It made it worse. It made it terrifying. Either way, I had come very close to substituting a gunshot for a flinch. That wasn't normal, healthy, or safe. _And how in the world had I even heard him coming?_ I never hear them coming. The Rangemen are stealth personified.

I didn't hear the thud when the gun hit the floor or notice that Ram was guiding me over to the bench along the back wall, but I did feel the difference in my head when it was pushed down between my knees. The pressure didn't get much better, but it had stopped getting worse. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that Ram had sat down beside me, about two feet between us, and was breathing deeply with his head leaned back. I guess that's one way to react to almost being murdered at work. I probably would have handled the situation a tad differently.

Several minutes passed, I don't know how many, before I recovered enough to speak. "Ram?" My voice was so quiet, I almost missed it. "I'm sorry," I choked out with a small sob. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment and guilt and horror. I swiped at the tears that had begun to fall. _God, I need to get a grip_. I've cried more in the last few days than I had in the last six months, and it wasn't even close to that time of the month.

After a whole lot more motionlessness from both of us, Ram had yet to say anything to me. My head was still lowered and I couldn't even tell if he had heard me in the first place. So I sat up and glanced at him. Ram was sitting silently, staring down the right lane of the gun range. His breathing was steady, but not exactly calm.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's alright."

I sat beside him in a mirrored posture, looking down range. I'd stopped crying and had almost stopped shaking at that point. "No, it isn't. It isn't alright."

"It's a common reaction, and there are plenty of situations when it's a good reflex."

"Good reflex?" I hoped he couldn't hear in my voice just how insane I thought he was. "It is not common for someone to try and kill their friends."

Ram's eyes shot to me then. When I turned my head to answer his gaze, he quickly shifted it back down the range. "There's a reason you were told not to work today."

"He said I should visit the range." I knew that Ram knew who I was talking about.

He was quiet again for a while. I started to wonder about him. _How is he sitting there so stoically after what I'd done? Why would he be trying to reassure me?_ I'd almost killed him. _I'd almost killed a man._ I'd almost killed a Rangeman._ Shit_. I was about to start crying again.

Ram spoke louder than before but just as sedately. "Well, that didn't turn out to be such a great idea, did it?"

I breathed one small laugh. _No, it certainly hadn't_. Whatever mysterious powers that had been controlling my tongue lately pushed their way to the front and took over. "I shot my clothes off this morning and did enough damage in my kitchen to lose several security deposits. And now this. That's two gun related incidents and I haven't even had supper." _So much for no one ever finding out about my ruined seat_. I went and spilled the beans even before Mary Lou had a chance to.

The corners of Ram's mouth tipped upward ever so slightly and I bristled. "You think that's funny?"

"No, I don't." Ram was turning out to be an unexpectedly soft-spoken guy. "I was just thinking about all of the people who never have to worry about gun safety at the dinner table." He took a small breath. "And about how long it's been since I was one of them."

"I suppose I'm not one of them anymore either, am I?"

"I think not."

I looked over at my pile of folded, used targets. I could hate it and fight it is much as I wanted, but there was no denying that guns were a serious part of my current reality. "Do you think someone can go back to that?"

"I wouldn't know how."

I sighed for maybe the millionth time that day. "Me neither." I was exhausted again.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Lester had taken up Ram's post in the control room when he sent him downstairs. He watched on the monitors as Stephanie startled and spun around, gun in hand. He jumped from his chair with a bark of surprise and momentarily couldn't breathe in the wake of the fear that washed over him. But it had been for naught. The gun wasn't loaded and he knew that Ram must have known that beforehand or he would have never risked startling someone while they were shooting. Still, the encounter was upsetting, and if the images on the screen where to be believed, they were most upsetting to Stephanie. Lester tried to fight the urge to go down there and lend some comfort. Ram looked to have the situation under control and he couldn't leave his post, but this episode combined with her attitude earlier had him worrying. Where the hell was Ranger anyway?

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Ram and Stephanie sat recovering for almost twenty minutes before it occurred to her to ask him why he'd come down. "Did you want to use the range, or did you need something? You never said."

"I was distracted."

She flinched internally. "I really am sorry."

"Don't be. Distraction is your specialty. And I fell for it."

"That's not –"

"- important," he interrupted and finished her sentence in a way she never would have. "I came to bring these." He handed Stephanie a large, thick manila envelope. "There are some legal papers that need to be signed today, but Santos can't get in touch with the Boss. He thought that you might be able to help."

"Oh." She tried to hide her surprise. She'd never been entrusted with something like this.

"Can you get in touch with him? Santos seemed to think you were the best person to ask."

Stephanie recalled their encounter in the garage and felt even worse. This day was very quickly turning to shit. And what a surprise, it was because of guns. _Had Lester just wanted to illicit her help earlier?_ It would make sense if he were as equally mystified by Ranger's behavior lately as she and Tank had been, and still were.

"Why don't you get Tank to sign them?" She wasn't completely positive that telling Tank about the fact that she knew where Ranger was had been a good idea. She was positive, however, that telling his other employees anything personal about him would be a big fat no-no.

Ram didn't answer immediately. He didn't want to tell her that, first of all, Tank never signed official papers like these, and that secondly, Tank was also AWOL since early that afternoon. He was actually a little caught off guard by the fact that she had even questioned the handling of RangeMan affairs. He had no idea how much she knew about the company, but the notion that she might know more than he did was a bit unsettling. So he really didn't know how to reply.

Stephanie saw Ram's reluctance and decided not to press the point. She wondered if she was right about Ranger and if he'd be waiting for her when she went home. _What if he wasn't and then she was responsible for this paperwork?_ "I'll see what I can do."

He hesitated, but then nodded.

She tried to reassure him. "If I can't get hold of him I'll get the papers back here within the hour."

Ram seemed to hesitate even more at that suggestion. He was looking down at the envelope in her hands. But then he simply nodded again. Stephanie felt herself shrinking under his uncertainty. _Maybe Tank was right_. She needed to work on trusting the Rangemen more and showing them that she trusted them.

Step one, talk to them. So far she'd had a lot of success with that. First, she'd spent the afternoon telling Tank all sorts of things that should probably have been left unsaid. Then she went and confessed her ballistic wardrobe malfunction to Ram, of all people. Come to think of it, 'success' might be an overly ambitious description of what she'd managed to do. 'Attempt' might be a better word for it.

Step two, try her hardest not to injure, or kill, any of them. That one she'd had a bit more trouble with in the past, this afternoon in particular, but she could work on that.

Step three, play by RangeMan rules. Now _that_ one was going to be more difficult. Either the rules were going to have to be relaxed a little, or she was going to be breaking them left and right. _Did they really expect a woman to report to them about every part of her life?_ Tank must have been insane to have even suggested such a thing. They were all too used to the men's locker room, where they all let everything hang out. Ladies just didn't operate that way. And she wasn't about to apologize for that or change herself to accommodate them. Final answer. Her skin crawled when she unintentionally imagined herself in that RangeMan locker room. She'd have to be fitted for a straight jacket in order to keep her hands to herself.

She returned to reality when Ram stood. He made a move towards the door, "can't sit around all day."

She stood too. She didn't know what to say but after what had just gone on between them she definitely felt like she should say something. "I really am sorry."

He stopped and turned back to her. "And I really meant it when I said that it was alright."

"Ram –"

He cut her off mid-sentence again. "You've had a traumatic experience and not enough time to recover. You shouldn't be at a range or even carrying. Tell the boss."

If anything more emotional happened today she'd have a breakdown. _Was this guy really telling her to take a stand with Ranger about her well-being and just how wrong he had been about it?_ She felt a sudden flood of appreciation for Ram and was hugging him before she had even finished the thought. She held him tightly and waited for him until he raised his own arms to stiffly return the embrace.

"I can't believe you aren't going to hold this against me."

Ram's spine straightened and Stephanie wanted to slap herself.

"That's not what I meant," she said quickly as she pulled back.

He tried to laugh, "I figured…"

Stephanie shook her head and laughed too. "My tongue's been a bit naughty today."

Ram's eyes widened ever so slightly and he bit his lip. He looked like he might be in some sort of pain.

"Wait," she sputtered, "that's not what I meant either!"

Ram's eyes found hers and his gaze made her blush and look away. It was penetrating and unsettling, like he could see into more than her mind or her soul; it was like he could read her past and see all that she'd ever been. She could still feel his eyes on her when he asked, "Did we meet in a previous life and it just slipped my mind?" (1)

She couldn't help but look up to meet his eyes again. "Maybe." She smiled. "I might have even killed you in that one."

Ram's full laughter was like a machine gun chortle. "I'd believe that."

Stephanie was even more surprised by his laughter than she normally was when one of the Merry Men let loose. _A close call with death and this man is having fun!_ "You're sort of twisted, aren't you?" This encounter hadn't been a traditional introduction, but Stephanie was starting to feel like she was really getting to know Ram. Although, she'd be the first to admit that she'd been wrong before…

"Look who's talking." He smiled one last time before he turned and headed out the door. "I have to go relieve Santos. Later."

She stood watching the empty doorway for a minute before turning back to the task at hand and packing up her things. He was right. Stephanie and guns were having a bad day and it was best if she called it quits before anyone got hurt. Ranger would just have to understand.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite**** this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*001 : Leona Naess - Ballerina]<br>(1: This Line is included as part of a group challenge from the 'Anna & Denny's NSTAA Challenge' at PerfectlyPlum, Jan. 2010.)  
>** One last reminder; anything I include in notes can be made available to the readers, just messagee-mail me for a link. **


	8. Chapter 8

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 8**

"You know that sitting in the dark in someone else's apartment is creepy, right?" I came home to find Ranger on my couch, silent, without a single bulb lit in the place. There was a faint light coming from the windows overlooking the parking lot, but it wasn't much. I could make out that his feet were crossed and perched on my coffee table. He had a bottle of water in his hand and he was wearing a clean set of clothes. _Where had those come from?_ I knew he hadn't been back to RangeMan. I was considering the likelihood that Ella had made a house call to bring them to him, when my shadowy guest spoke.

"Last night I had the lights on," he said with a kind of shrugging gesture of his hand, "and things didn't go all that smoothly."

I rolled my eyes and dropped all of my things on the dining room table. "Could have at least turned on the television; it might have made you seem human." I headed for the kitchen, flipping on lights as I went. I needed more ice. After my run in – yes, pun intended – with Lester, the mark on my chest was threatening to become a full-on, talk to a doctor about it, nasty-and-lasting hematoma. I grabbed an icepack and the jar of olives. When I turned around, Ranger appeared in the doorway in his classic pose. He was watching my every movement and I was trying not to watch him. He glanced at the icepack in my hand.

"Are you okay? Every time I see you, you've been knocked around. I'd assumed my building would have been safe enough." I didn't like the sharp edge in his tone.

I waved him off, determined not to read too much into that. I would just end up getting offended. Plus, I knew that it was a bid for information and I didn't feel like getting into it all with him. I would be fine soon enough. The same couldn't be said for Lester if Ranger got the wrong idea. Besides, I'm a good healer. Good thing too, with all the screwed-up directions my life had been heading lately.

"I was manhandled by a heavy door. No big deal. I'm sure it was all caught on tape. You'll probably get a kick out of it when you see." I gestured to the two recently acquired lead decorations in my walls. "So, I assume that you've noticed the new look in here?"

"I did." His eyes didn't leave me.

"I had an accident this morning too." He looked like he wanted to smile, but he's a smart man. He let me continue unantagonized. I tried my hardest to play the whole thing off. I didn't feel like rehashing all the details of that incident either. "I haven't decided yet if the loss of the jar is good or bad news. I can't keep my gun in there anymore, of course, but I also can't hide any cookies in there either." I popped an olive in my mouth. "Not that I ever did. I've never had cookies long enough to worry about my cookie storage needs."

Ranger smiled, but didn't comment. _I mentioned that he was a smart man, right?_

"Have you been here all day?" I glanced around my apartment. There wasn't so much as a particle of dust out of place from when I'd last seen it. Although I suppose I could have been wrong about that. I have been told once or twice before that my powers of observation aren't foolproof. And that fool was usually me. _Geez, I was really starting to bring myself down._

Ranger didn't reply and I could see that this was one of those occasions when I shouldn't expect him to. New topic.

"I almost killed Ram this afternoon." I slid the olive jar back in the fridge and made for my bedroom. "I tried to shoot him."

Ranger still gave no response, but he certainly had a reaction. I was blocked from leaving the room by a blank face and a chest of steel.

"I didn't though." My tone might have been a little childish. I skirted around him in a more deliberate motion and was thankful that he didn't reach out to stop me. I was also thankful that I sounded more like an adult when I spoke next. "The gun was empty. Thank heavens. Otherwise we'd both be filling out paperwork at the hospital right now and Con Stiva would be the least of my legal worries. Don't fret," I smiled as I pictured a fretting Ranger, "you'll get to see all of that too. It was caught on candid camera. Feel free to take some of my cheese popcorn and have yourself a little movie night."

"Babe."

I kept talking over my shoulder as I went to my room and pulled off my top. I needed a change of clothes. I wanted to be separated from as many things about this day as possible. "Ram's kind of weird, you know that? He was totally cool with the whole thing. I know that if I'd almost been aerated by a coworker, I would have had a hell of a lot more to say about it than, 'It's alright,' but he just basically told me forget about it. It was very Donny Brasco of him."

"Babe." His voice was low and he sounded pained this time. I could empathize. It was a really terrible attempt at humor.

"Oh, and I brought back some papers for you." I kept talking as I changed and moved around the bedroom, avoiding his gaze. I wished that I'd had the presence of mind to be proud of myself for being so comfortable, but the fact that I was disrobing in front of Ranger didn't actually occur to me while I was in the moment. My mind was busy racing off to other places that were far less pleasant. Too bad, I could have used some indecent Ranger thoughts to distract myself. Instead, I kept right on blustering and babbling like a moron. "The envelope's on the table. I don't know what they are; legal papers or something. Lester sent them over. He says they need your signature ASAP. I told Ram that if I couldn't get them to you, I'd bring them back right away, so don't dawdle." Another small smile at the idea of Ranger dawdling.

Ranger glanced at the table and I used his momentary distraction to slip into the bathroom and close the door. I found myself avoiding the mirror, as afraid to face myself as I was to face him, or anyone else for that matter. I knew that the semi-confession of my accidental shooting troubles wasn't exactly what Ram had meant when he had said, "tell the boss." Still, it was what had flown out of my mouth. _Is it scary that I'm starting to accept the fact that I simply no longer control it?_ Because people should. They should have some input about the things they say. _Unless, of course, they were insane_.

Ranger was waiting for me when I opened the door. I'd emerged too soon. I still didn't want to face him or explain myself, and from the look on his face those were the two things he was waiting for.

I scooted around him again and he made a move like he was thinking about stopping me, but he didn't. He followed me instead.

"Are you staying here again tonight?" I said it way too fast and wasn't sure that I even wanted to hear the answer.

"Babe, stop."

"Because if you are, then you're going running with me tomorrow morning. If you don't have what you need, you should fetch a duffle or something." Now I wasn't even making complete sense to myself. _Was I inviting Ranger to sleep over __**and**__ ordering him to exercise?_

"Babe!" This time he said it with more force behind it.

I lost my cool. _As if you could call the way I'd been behaving up to that point as 'cool.'_ "Look, Ranger, I can't force you to start having your side of this conversation, but could you at least stop repeating the same word over and over again? It's frustrating!"

I stomped back into the kitchen. I desperately needed something to eat, but before I could reach for anything I was caught in a fierce embrace. Ranger's strong arms cradled me while I tried to fight him off. But struggle as I might, he wasn't having it and there was no way I could force him to release me, _which royally sucked and wasn't really helping anything!_ I didn't want to be held. I wanted a fight. I wanted to let off some steam. I wanted to freaking hit something. Or someone. _I wanted a donut!_

Ranger hummed softly against my ear and I felt it zip through me straight to all the right places. _Oh, damn, but Ranger felt so good_! I felt small and stupid and silly. Ranger was large and sure and safe. _And so warm_. I snuggled deeper into his arms and tried to breathe in some of his strength. Most of the time he seemed to have an endless supply of it. I, unfortunately, came up short more often than not.

"Stephanie, are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"What do you mean what's wrong? You know what's wrong!"

His hands moved up and down my back in what I'm sure would have been a soothing, and most likely arousing, pattern on any other day. "Tell me anyway."

I put more force into it this time, and he let me push him away. I took a moment to return to the olive jar once more before I even ventured an explanation. In retrospect, I probably should have taken a real deep breath too, much bigger than the one I actually took. "I'm on complete overload, okay? That's what's wrong! I almost killed someone at work! Someone I care about. And today I decide to go back to Vinnie's and what happens? Lula burns the place down! Not to mention the fact that I almost shot Rex this morning! Now I have to call Dillon, _again_, and I'm going to have to spackle in here! And I'm broke, totally without any monetary resource at the moment. The only reason I even have food to eat," I gestured wildly with the jar in my hand, "is because _you_ decided to do the unthinkable and stock my cupboards! I'm scared to death about what's going to happen the next time I see Morelli. All of Trenton is on the edge of its seat waiting for that show. Biggest ticket in town! And Mary Lou isn't about to let me forget that fact. Oh, I know her game. She's real understanding the first day, but give her a while and she's like a Spanish Inquisitor! And I'm not talking in the awesome Monty Python way either, but in the thumbscrews and water boarding kind of way. On top of that, I've already had ten voicemails from my mother today and I am way too much of a coward to listen to them and find out if she's heard about Joe yet, because she's been completely awful since our little agreement. And you don't even want to know what's going on with my grandmother. There are old men who are making it their business to watch me and everything I do, and some of them have been talking to the cops. Then this dickhead teenager hit on me, repeatedly, and the cherry on that sundae is that the pipsqueak's got my phone number! I was totally rude to Lester for no good reason. And I'm utter shit with the gun you gave me; couldn't hit a stalker at twenty paces. And I'm tired. I'm restless, I'm hungry, and I really want some fucking sugar! I'm having a hormone emergency here! And I'll tell you something else, _Babe_, if you smile, even a hint of a smile, about any of this, I'm going to kick you in the nuts!"

Ranger's only move was to close his eyes. I couldn't tell if he was trying to fight off the laughter or the urge to fling me out the nearest window.

I turned and leaned against the wall, the physical evidence of my disastrous day staring me in the face. That day was supposed to be good. It was supposed to be my new beginning. Instead, it turned into as much as of a mess as every other day of my wretched life. My back slowly slid down towards the floor and I buried my face in my hands, trying to hide the fact I was fighting off even more tears. It was like someone had come along this afternoon and turned on my faucet. I just couldn't seem to stop. Everything had me on the verge. Ranger stepped closer to me and was about to reach down when my head shot up, my eyes wide.

"Ohmigod!" I have no idea what kind of face I pulled at him, but if Ranger's reaction was anything to go by, it was not good.

"What?" Ranger took a knee beside me, the concern evident in his voice.

"I've turned into my mother!" I proceeded to cry every last tear and leek every last snot that was left inside me. And there was a little wailing on the side as well.

Ranger closed his eyes again for a beat and then wrapped me up in his arms. I was so mortified. There had to be so much more than lack of sleep wrong with me, like maybe I'd been exposed to nuclear waste, comic book style? Or maybe there was a mad scientist working on some kind of evil brain ray in the next apartment that turns women into runny, mushy sacks of emotion? _That wouldn't be that crazy, would it?_ I mean, I do have Batman in my kitchen. So Dr. Jonathan Crane could very well be in the building. Oh, that would be good. Cillian Murphy is hot. Irishmen are so sexy. That accent drives me wild. _What the – ? Damn it all!_

I had to get myself under some semblance of control. Then again… _Why?_ Why did I have to control myself? Ranger was the control guru here, not me. I did what I liked and I liked doing it. _Yep, that's me in a nutshell alright._

I can't really explain what happened to me next, but all I could think was that my mother would never, never, never have sinful, dirty, mind-blowing, doomsday sex on the kitchen floor with a mercenary because she'd had a rough day, and if it was something my mother wouldn't do, then I wanted it. Well, I knew there were more than a few other reasons as well, but I wasn't giving them a lot of attention right then. What I was giving a lot of attention right then was Ranger's neck and I was giving it with my mouth, and tongue, and teeth. I heard his sharp intake of breath, and it was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard. I had a blinding realization. I wanted him. I wanted his body. _I wanted it badly and I wanted it now. _My hands found their way under his shirt, tracing ridge upon ripple up his chest, frantic fingers brushing over his nipples, sweeping down his sides, tugging at hem of his shirt. The phrase 'too many clothes' was running on a loop in my head.

He was slower reacting than I'd expected. First his arms tightened around me and I felt his fingers curl and fist in the cloth at my back. Then I was being pulled slowly up the front of his body until we were standing. That hadn't been my idea. My plans had more to do with us being on the floor, naked, with me on top of him. _But this was good too. I could work with this_. When I reached for his belt, Ranger captured my wrists and pried my hands away from his luscious, luscious flesh. He stared down at my still watery face, a large, wet spot evident from where my tears had soaked his shirt.

I had another realization and it was a real doozy. The scene flashed in my mind, my father from the night before, holding my mother in their forty-year-lived-in kitchen – holding her and hushing her and coaxing her back from the edge. I froze.

And I just about crapped my pants.

"You're looking a little crazy, Babe."

I ripped my hands away from him like I'd received a physical shock and started pacing, all over the apartment. I felt like I could run a marathon. Ranger watched me, wary.

"I'm worked up. I can see that. It's hard to miss." I kept going. Images from the past of my female relatives having meltdowns were hounding me and I paced faster. "Okay. Okay, so I can be rational. I don't have to be them. I'm not like them. I'm stressed and sugarless and obviously horny, but who wouldn't be in my position? My normal weekday isn't what you'd call mundane and this past week has been even crazier than I'm used to handling. Plus, I have you standing in front of me and against me and there's always kissing. So this isn't really my fault. I'd be crazy not to act out, wouldn't I? Less than two days ago I was in the clutches of a homicidal undertaker and less than four hours ago I had a gun trained on a man I'd trust with my life. How's a girl supposed to react to that? Maybe I'm just relieved to still be alive after everything. Maybe I'm angry at myself for all the stupid mistakes I've made. Maybe I need release." Oh, I was starting to make sense to myself now. I liked where this was going. I stopped my pacing and rounded on him. "I need to celebrate. And I need to be punished." I snaked my arms around his waist and looked up at him. "Help me out here, Higgins."

Ranger was obviously amused, but I knew how much trouble he was having keeping his breathing under control. I could see the vein throbbing at the base of his neck. His eyes were closed yet again and he was shaking his head. It looked like he was praying. I could hear mumbled Spanish whispers and wanted to know what he was asking for. I hoped it was me, but deep down I knew it was patience. I reached up and traced my finger along his healthy pulse. His eyes flew open. His blank face slammed into place and he peeled me off of him. _Again_.

"As tempting as your theorizing has been, we both know that ultimately, it's flawed."

_Ugh!_ I couldn't believe it. Years – _YEARS!_ – of applying pressure, and then when I'm getting ready to strip he's pulling back. "You're a tease," I snapped. I punctuated that accusation by reaching up my sleeve and pulling out my bra. It was a white, lacey number and it caught Ranger's interest. I can tease too.

He didn't look amused anymore. "Be careful."

"Or what, you might get even farther away from me?" Sarcasm wasn't going to help with any seduction, but the man was infuriating.

"You're playing with fire."

"Yeah? Well, I don't have a fireplace or anything, but it is pretty chilly in here and I could really go for some 'Smores." But it wasn't chilly in my apartment. It was warm. It was getting warmer.

And here's where I might have made my mistake. I licked my lips. _Slowly._ Forget about the chill. From the look Ranger was giving me, spewing aggravation and lust, I was actually starting to worry about spontaneous combustion.

Then out of nowhere he moved across the room and headed for the door. "I have to go," he clipped.

"What? What do you mean? You can't leave! Not now."

"Babe, you're jonesing, and I'm not the on the menu. What you need is an actual 'Smore."

"What happened to Mr. Opportunity?"

Ranger stopped and actually smiled back at me. "Gave him the day off." _Oh, well that's just great!_ I'm ready for the Sex God and the Comedian makes a reappearance.

"I thought if my bed was empty you intended on filling it." I swallowed thickly around those words. Ideas about Ranger filling things in my bed were making me dizzy.

His expression changed and suddenly, it _was_ feeling a little frosty in there. "_Is_ it empty?" he asked, his firey eyes clashing against his icey tone.

I instantly wilted and the fire went out. I collapsed into a chair at my table. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening to me." It didn't escape either of us that it wasn't an answer to his question. The truth was that I didn't know the answer. I hadn't seen Joe since Ranger and I were at the station and I'd ducked every one of his phone calls for days. I was a little surprised that he hadn't come by the apartment yet. That's the thought that had me freaking out a little. What if Joe had come by today? What if he'd let himself in while Ranger was hanging out in the dark like a psychopath? What if he showed up right now? Oh god, I shouldn't even let myself contemplate that. It was too nightmarish. Almost as nightmarish as the thought that I had been about to rough ride Ranger while I was technically still on-again with Joe. _Holy shit_. I'd almost, maybe, but not quite for sure, cheated on Morelli!

Well, at least I didn't have any tears left. _Hello, have we met? I'm Stephanie 'Cup-Half-Full' Plum._ Sigh; number one million and fifty two to be exact.

Ranger's hand landed gently on my dipped head. He brushed back my hair and lifted my chin with two of his fingers. "I'm going to grab that duffle and take care of these papers. I won't be long."

I grinned automatically, my distress abruptly slipping away. "You're going back to Haywood?" I think I'd let my voice travel just beyond the far side of sunny, because Ranger gave me a strange look, a cross between confused and calculating.

"I'll see you later." He kissed my lips gently, and then my forehead.

I could see that he was about to disappear, and I decided that I'd had enough of the Phantom. Hell, I'd rather have the Comedian back. I wasn't going to let him merely breeze away and leave me panting anymore.

I know. _I know_. I should really give things like that more thought. And of all the days to be making my mind up about anything, it shouldn't be the same day that I'd also come hideously close to homicide and tried to jump my best friend. But I threw caution to the wind. _Why not?_ I hadn't done anything sane in a while. _Why start now?_ Pretty much everything that had happened the last two days felt like a dream. And dreams are supposed to be surreal. Otherwise what fun would they be?

I reached up and grabbed him before he could get far and planted a big, loud, wet kiss on his cheek. "Bring Pino's." He smiled and then I kissed him for real. Things started to heat up and the mercury was rising again, but Ranger was on safety patrol and put a stop to it. I'd never been more disappointed to have him looking out for my best interests.

His smile was fading as he left and I could have sworn I heard him sighing just as the door swung closed. The silence he left in his wake was oppressive.

_Lovely._ I'm the girl who repels super heroes. What a fantastic cap to the day.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite**** this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


	9. Chapter 9

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

** A/N: I'd like to thank all of my generous reviewers. Your feedback and encouragement is cherished. Also, I want to apologize in advance. This and the next several chapters are much longer and involved. Those will take more time to proofread and revise, so the period between updates is likely to be longer as well. Sorry. **

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 9**

The trip back to Haywood had been extremely uncomfortable, painful even. I'd restlessly shifted in my seat, but no change in my posture was going to relieve the ache. It took longer than usual for my breathing to return to normal and all my will power not to turn around and go back. My zone, an impossibility. Walking away from a hot and bothered, and _willing_, Stephanie was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do, and I've had to carry two grown men more than twenty miles through marshland. On more than one occasion. She drives me crazy in all the best and worst ways. She tears me up. I needed to put as much distance between us as possible, not sure that I could trust myself with her when her eyes burned the way they had and she trained them on me with such wanton hunger. Not to mention her searching hands and her insistent lips. Thoughts of that mouth had kept me awake nights. _Shit._ What I actually wanted was to race back to her. I wanted to taste her and give her the release she'd demanded, nearly begged for. I wanted to feel her around me, losing ourselves against each other. _Dios, the sound in her voice when she'd asked to be punished!_ I'd almost lost it right then imagining the sweet torture I'd rain down on her, remembering my own undoing in the exquisite agony of her tight, slick flesh. _Fuck, man, cool it!_ I needed to stop thinking. It was making it worse. And I didn't need to show up at the office looking heated, horny, and hard and then be seen leaving with a duffle and a piece of cake. Because, yes, if I was going back to Steph's, I was bringing her an emergency dose of sugar. Either that or a few heavy and high dose sedatives. She was acting like a lunatic and at the moment I trusted her control around me even less than I did my own.

And maintaining that control was paramount. All sugar-deprived madness aside, she had doubts… and a boyfriend. Morelli. If there was anything that could douse the heat under my collar, reminding myself of the cop would do it. Despite her protests, Stephanie allowed occasional poaching. It was hard to tell exactly where she drew the line, but wherever it was, cheating was not an option for her. She knew from experience what it felt like to be on the receiving end. _Lord, knows why. Who would want to look anywhere else when they had Stephanie?_ An affair wasn't on option for me either. I could no longer accept 'sometimes' when it came to her, tasting what it was like to make her mine only to stand back and watch while another man had his own taste. That was out of the question. The situation had never been ideal, but my current predicament was even less enviably than usual. I had to control myself _and_ a sexually aggressive Stephanie Plum. I was in over my head. I was coming up for air and a legal meeting, but I knew that whether it was the smart thing to do or not, I'd be diving right back under again as soon as I could manage it. I can't help myself.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the switchboard. Ram picked up. Good. "I'm headed in. I need Santos in my office and cue up the footage from earlier. I want a copy." I knew that I didn't need to tell him what I was referring to. If it had been any of the other men on the line, I would have had to explain it. "And transfer me to Ella."

"Yes, Boss." And the line clicked over.

Ella picked up right away. "Yes."

"Ella, I'm going to need on overnight bag with workout clothes and a clean uniform."

"Sure." I could hear the question in her tone. She wanted to know where'd I'd been. Ella would be the one person in the building who knew with absolute certainty that I hadn't set foot in Haywood in days. Asking her to pack a bag for me was common; she couldn't read anything of significance into that. But my next request would leave little doubt in her mind about where I was headed.

I almost didn't ask, "Do you have any chocolate cake on hand?"

She didn't reply right away. Her knowing smile was practically audible over the phone and I felt the awkward niggle of embarrassment that never came up around anyone other than Ella. Instead of answering, she asked, "How is she doing?"

"She's still in one piece," was all I said. I had no idea how to describe to anyone else the condition Stephanie was in when I left her. I didn't quite understand it and I'd been witness to it.

"That bad?" she surmised, reminding me why I'd hired her. "The poor dear, I'll make up a care package." I wasn't sure how much good it would do if it didn't include a dozen Boston Creams and a box of condoms, or maybe she could just send a bucket of ice. "It'll be ready in fifteen," she said and disconnected. And Stephanie thought that I was the reason my men had poor phone skills. I wondered how she'd react if she found out that it was all on Ella.

The meeting with Lester took longer than I'd expected. The legal work on the Hawthorne account was a complete mess. The problems with the contracts would never have come up if I'd been there to handle them and I was kicking myself over it. I can't afford to let myself be so preoccupied. Too much of the company depends on my attention. I spend two entire days out of the mix and look what happened. We almost lost that account over a technicality in the paperwork.

The gun range video was cued for me at my desk when we were finished and I settled in to watch. Whatever had happened at the range, it had badly rattled Stephanie. I needed to know what it was and I was hoping it wasn't something I'd have to have a 'chat' with Ram about. I watched her practicing on her own. She looked unsteady and unsure, but that wasn't uncommon for someone using a new, unfamiliar weapon, nor for someone who hated guns as much as she did. Considering her obvious trepidation, she'd done well. I jumped in my chair when she suddenly whipped around, gun in hand and pulled the trigger. There was nothing unsteady or unsure about it. That looked like the reflexes I expect from my men in the field, from my men in battle. But if I was a little surprised by it, she was devastated. There were panic and horror written on her from head to toe. I couldn't see Ram's face, but I assumed he wore a similar expression. I saw her start to break down and I watched Ram offer comfort and help her regain control. I felt the pang of jealousy and the burn of self loathing. I should have been comforting my Babe, not sitting alone in her empty apartment. It took her a moment, but she pulled herself together. I smiled softly. She was stronger then she thought she was.

There's no sound on the video from the range, so I couldn't hear what Ram was saying to her, but she was giving him a peculiar look, like she was discovering something. _What could he have said to her?_ My curiosity leapt from zero to sixty in a flash when she jumped up and threw her arms around him. They blushed and gazed at each other. Then they were smiling and laughing. I didn't want to think about what that tight feeling in my gut meant as the video came to an end with Stephanie staring at the door Ram had exited.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I sat alone at my table for a long time. I felt bereft. I felt numb. How many emotional episodes is one person capable of having in a single day? Because I think I'd set a record. And I was tapped out. There should really be a legal limit on it. I wasn't even that hungry. Pino's sounded good, pineapple upside down cake sounded better, but a bit of Batman sounded best. I didn't have any of those things though, and what I wanted most of all was oblivion. I had no desire to stay awake and dwell on all that I'd done that day.

Night had fully descended before I came back into focus, and still no Ranger. Going to bed alone was depressing, but what other option did I have? As I curled up in the cool sheets, wishing I had something warm to wrap around me, I let a few more silent tears fall to my pillow. I was dreading the morning and the prospect of another horrendous day, but even more than that, as I closed my eyes, I was despondent at the idea that this day might go on one minute longer. [*002]

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The alarm roared to life at six and instead of throwing it out of the room or smashing it to all hell, Stephanie just turned her head and looked at it. It grew louder and louder as she stared, debating whether she should get up or go back to sleep. Her bed was disappointingly roomy and cold. She had thought that he'd be there. She's expected him to come back to her and even after only two days waking up in his arms, she missed it. There was a pounding in her head from all the crying she'd done. Her ears started to ring painfully at the escalating shrieking and she was forced to reach over and shut the alarm off. She flopped over onto her back and inspected her ceiling for several minutes, wondering how she was going it fill another day, alone in her apartment, without sugar and without any money. The prospects weren't appealing. Eyes glazing, she let thick stolidity begin to gather around her and weigh on her limbs until she was shocked back to reality by the snooze alarm. This time she did give the alarm a swift thump and it hopped off the nightstand and across the floor. As she watched its progress, she saw black boots come into view and looked up to see Ranger in the doorway. He was dressed in his running gear, black sweats and a dark grey sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off.

"You're back," she said surprised.

"Been back. I told you I would be."

"I didn't notice," she looked down at the space he usually occupied in her bed and hoped she didn't sound as confused as she felt. _I always wake up when he comes in_.

"You were sleeping. Didn't want to wake you." He gave her an odd smile and again she thought about Ranger's strange behavior these past several mornings. He seemed much less 'bubbly' today and she wondered how much sleep he'd had.

Dragging herself to the edge of her bed, she threw her legs off and flexed her toes. She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing up her bed head and making Ranger's fingers twitch. "But I usually do anyway," she said around a yawn.

His smile grew more familiar. "I tried very hard not to." She shot him a look that now broadcast her confusion and he raised an amused eyebrow. "I didn't want to tempt you. You were a little forward last night." _Even in her sleep she was pretty handsy._ He wasn't going to tell her that, though. Not after the way she'd looked when he'd finally made it back to her. He could tell that she'd been crying again. He should have been there with her, shouldn't have left. But he had to; he had no choice. His company was a responsibility he couldn't ignore. He had to work. It wasn't fair to her; it wasn't easy for him. But that was his life and he couldn't change that now.

Stephanie squeezed her eyes shut and blushed. She knew she'd made a fool of herself. She stood and beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, mumbling on the way, "I'm so sorry about that. I didn't mean to — "

She was cut off by the appearance of soft lips, caressing her own. The kiss was gentle and quick, just to silence her really. "Don't ever apologize. I liked it." His eyes were warm and soft. Ranger knew that last night had been an unusual situation. She had been hyper-stressed and exhausted. He understood that even more after having seen the tape from the range. But any other time, he'd love to see that eager Stephanie again. And again.

She blushed even deeper. Her stomach did a tiny little dance and her hormones really liked what he'd said as well. So she just nodded and slipped into the bathroom. He was right. Temptation had become her sworn enemy and she felt a mite safer with the door between them.

With that in mind, she should have taken some time to consider the reprecussions of jogging laps around the track behind Ranger for an hour. Because there were some serious repercussions. She conjured up images of every disturbing thing she could think of to distract herself; people kicking puppies, Mama Macaroni's mole, homicidal Christmas elves, glowing branding irons, the … _gulp… _Bombshell Brigade, Vinnie cooties, the cool, pillowy silk lining inside a – "Ahheepk!" That last memory had done it and she yelped as she tripped on her own feet. She flew forward and landed hard on her already injured left knee, seeing stars. _Do I really have to be __**that**__ good at distraction, even with myself?_

Ranger heard her and turned to see the fall. He winced and ran to her. "Babe, what happened?"

"Gravity won," she hissed painfully through clenched teeth.

"You're shaking."

"From this damn running." She tried to stand but was too wobbly to do it on her own.

Ranger could clearly see that this was different than mere physical fatigue. Her breathing was shallow and she was trembling forcefully all over. "Sit. Catch your breath."

"We're going to be here a while then," she argued back. But she complied and stayed sitting, tucking her head between her raised knees, as much to hide her face as to stop her vision from swimming. Ranger crouched beside her and rubbed slow, strong circles on her back. Something else had happened, something more; he was sure of it.

Stephanie's breathing started to even out but she was prolonging her recovery to give her time to think of what to say to Ranger that wasn't; 'I was trying so hard to fill my mind with anything other than X-rated images of your divine body that my mind went haywire and lost control of my feet.' She finally settled on a simple, "I'm such a spaz."

"Babe." He helped her to her feet and she hobbled pitifully home while Ranger continued his run. He was finished and caught up with her before she'd quite reached her building. _Show off._ At least she'd managed to stomp down her imagination during the walk home. It was no easy feat. She'd seen more of Ranger in the last week then she usually would have in an average month. She had an out-and-out banquet of images and touches fresh in her memory and prime fodder for shower massage assisting fantasies. Although, the pain in her knee was helping to combat such diversions.

Stairs and elevator taken and lock magiced open, they were both soon making themselves comfortable inside the apartment. Ranger was pawing through a giant duffle bag for something. Stephanie was mid-sit at her table when she caught sight of the size of his bag and straightened back up. Surprised that she could have missed it before she asked, "how long do you plan on staying?"

"Ella packed it," he sidestepped the issue, not entirely able to decipher her tone. _Does she want me to leave?_

Stephanie rolled her eyes. _When was I going to learn to stop expecting him to answer my questions?_

Then he diverted, "feeling better after the run? Aren't still jonesing are you, Babe?" Stephanie had put an uncharacteristic amount of effort forward that morning and he assumed she had been trying to work off some of that volatile energy she was buzzing with the night before. When she didn't answer what he had meant to be a playful remark, he looked over at her. And he saw just how unmistakably wrong he had been. The look she was giving him, told him in no uncertain terms, that no, she had not rid herself of her cravings, and the intensity of it had his own desire blooming rather suddenly. _Not good_. "I'm going to shower," he said and gabbed his things.

Stephanie shook her head at her behavior, and at his too. _Since when does Ranger run away?_ I was like the world had been turned on its head. She limped to the fridge for some water. Spotting the Pino's bag right away, she smiled as she snagged that too. "Thank you for the Pino's," she called out. "I don't often have it for breakf…" Then she stopped and frowned. "What the hell is that?"

Ranger appeared in the doorway, now shirtless and barefoot, in time to see her throwing the small package of chocolate cheesecake on the countertop between them. _What is it now?_ he wondered. But all he said was, "cake."

She glared at him in disbelief. _Why would he do that?_ He knew the situation. He knew how hard this was for her _and_ how important. It wasn't even just about her. It wasn't about taking care of _'the temple.'_ This was something she'd agreed to do with her mother and she was determined to stick to it. He knew she was struggling with it.

Then it dawned on her why he might have brought it. And it hurt. "I get it. Lesson learned, Higgins."

Ranger was thrown by her cold tone. "What?" _ESP my ass, who could possibly know what this woman was thinking?_

She drooped slightly, feeling guilty. "I understand. Message received." He only watched her, waiting for her to explain. She shrank from his shrewd gaze, unable to ignore him. "It isn't fair to dangle something in someone's face when you know they can't have it and how badly they want it. I get it. I said I was sorry."

"Babe, you seemed to be in some need of it last night. I wasn't trying to make a point." _Damn, _he mentally cursed. "I didn't mean to upset you." He made a move towards her and she made an identical move in the same direction, so he stopped. He didn't want to admit to himself just how badly it stung when she moved away from him.

"I'm not upset," she vowed weakly. "And I don't want the cake."

"You look like you're going to cry."

"So?"

"So, you _are_ upset." Just the thought that he'd nearly put more tears in her eyes after everything else that had drawn them out only the night before made his chest ache. "And I knew that would make you feel better. Having just a little won't hurt."

"I can't have that cake and you know why!" She roughly shoved the container away from her. If her mother could handle life with Val and Co. and Grandma Mazur and her new friends, without a tipple, then she could make it through a few accidental shootings and a pending Morelli showdown, without sugar. How could she look her mother in the eye knowing that she'd had Ella Cake for breakfast?

"Babe, you haven't been acting like yourself."

If that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black... and accusing it of burning dinner. "What if I was?" she challenged with an offended air. "What if I am? What if this is the new me?" _Maybe I did start my new life yesterday after all, but in this one it isn't everything that happens to me that's undeniably crazy, it's me._

Ranger hoped not. This new Stephanie liked to disagree and snap at him an awful lot. She was loud.

"This could be sugar free life," she went on. "Or maybe this is the old me?" _That's what Mary Lou had said, wasn't it? That this is who I used to be? This is the woman who booted The Dick to the curb and had the blow out of the century on her front lawn. This was the woman who ran a man down with a Buick on a whim. This was the woman who jumped off of roofs. And she didn't give a shit what anyone thought about any of it!_ Stephanie had the impulse to pump her fist in the air.

Ranger was at a loss. He didn't know what to say or do. Normally he'd grab her and hold her until all felt right again, but something was telling him that it would only make this situation worse. Her words weren't making a whole lot of sense and she was yelling them. He stepped off into the other room for a second and returned with a travel shaving bag. He offered that to her, slightly worried that this would go over as badly as the cake had, although he couldn't think of a reason why it would. "Ella put this together for you." He figured that she couldn't possibly be mad at Ella for anything.

Stephanie peeked in the bag and her expression and posture softened. Inside there was a small pouch of bath salts, a few candles, a facial mask, some first-aid lotions, and a travel bottle of Bvlgari. She smiled warmly, "I'm in love with a housekeeper." Ranger released a small breath of relief and stepped forward, reaching for her.

She looked up and stepped back again. "Don't you dare kiss me unless you're ready to take off the pants." Stephanie almost peed herself in shock. _Had I really just said that? This has to be my tongue revolting against me for depriving it of cake. It must be furious._ A week ago she would have fled screaming from the room in mortification, but Ranger's reaction was good enough for her to get over it and stay to enjoy the view.

Ranger stilled and stared. He looked at her like she had two heads. _She could switch on the hot or cold in the blink of an eye. Off balance? This woman has me on my ass. When had Stephanie become the one who applies the pressure anyway? And since when does anyone just blurt it out like that?_

Oh yeah, Stephanie was starting to like the old her. Especially if she could put that look on Ranger's face. She was fun.

Ranger, though, wasn't entirely enjoying this new forward side of her. Confidentand concentrated were good. Crass and confusing were not. He decided to call her bluff, hoping like hell that she was actually bluffing. _And also, somewhere in the back of his mind, hoping that she wasn't._ Not that he let any of his doubt show. He took another step and pulled the drawstring on his sweatpants untied.

_Oh shit._ That familiar jolt of panic shot through Stephanie and she knew she'd gone too far. "Okay, okay. I surrender, alright."

Ranger smiled and closed the gap between them. Their kiss was warm and lingering, reassuring them both that whatever else was going on, some things hadn't changed. But Ranger did keep his hands cupping her face. There was no reason to risk her having any more unpredictable reactions to their touching, just in case she changed her mind again.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I lounged on my sofa; stretched out and lazy, channel surfing. I had no real plans for the day, but my loose intentions were a) not touching my gun, b) not having any contact with my family, and c) getting in touch with Connie to find out whatever I could about the future of the bond's office.

Ranger had managed to shower and dress for work without further incident or threat of conjugal nudity. I'd willfully kept my thoughts and my hands in check. He explained with his typical economy of words that the problems at the office had been much worse than he'd thought and he'd be in meetings all day trying to straighten things out. I was secretly glad to hear it. Being so close to him was testing all of my limits.

I toyed with the idea of going to the gym, but quickly dismissed it. I ran that morning. That would be plenty of exercise for the day. Just the thought of working out made up my mind for me; I'd spend the day in. I had one day left before returning to work and beginning my 'training' in earnest. First thing on the agenda, take a long soak in the tub and make use of all the delightful gifts that Ella had sent for me. The next several hours were spent pampering myself with every luxury available in my apartment. Relaxed, pruney, and dressed in a fresh t-shirt and jeans, I glanced around and noticed, with some confusion, that Ranger's duffle was nowhere in sight. It didn't make sense, because the thing was gigantic. It was hard to miss. I made another circuit around the apartment. _Had he taken it with him? Wouldn't I have noticed that?_ I can't explain why, but I checked my closet. And there it sat, tucked away neat as you please. A ripple of warmth ran through me to see that mass of black slipped between mounds and mounds of strappy sandals and spiked heels. The sight couldn't be less like that of his closet. Then, a tsunami of curiosity crashed over me. I wanted to see inside. _What could he have possibly brought with him to fill that bag?_ Maybe it was filled with weapons. I should know about that shouldn't I? It would be important to keep me informed if I had a small nation's arsenal in by bedroom closet. Right?

No. Today I was having a day of relaxation and down time, and obsessing over Ranger, and Ranger related subjects, was the opposite of relaxing. Bothered, would be the correct way to describe how I felt when my mind dwelt on Ranger for too long. So, what else can I do as well as I fixate on every distressing detail of my life? Distract. What better way was there to distract myself than a mini marathon; Ghostbusters, The Transporter, Clue, and my one girly, guilty pleasure, Pretty Woman? Somewhere in there I took a break to have lunch, PB&O on white, and ate more popcorn than I'd ever voluntarily admit to anyone. I spoke to Connie briefly. The office had been cleared and the burned portions of the walls and ceiling would be gutted by the end of tomorrow. After that, the rebuild depended on Vinnie and when and how much he was willing to cough up for the work. Which meant the office wasn't likely to be rebuilt for another six or seven years.

I'd also received phone calls all day from the usual suspects. My mother was still raving about the Buick and begging me to come home and talk some sense into my grandmother. Grandma Mazur called to invite me to dinner so that I could meet Plonka. _No way in hell_. Local gossips were still calling with undisguised attempts to confirm rumors. Lula and Mary Lou both called, but I didn't answer. And Joe called. Not only did I let those calls go to the machine, but for one of them I even held my hands over my ears like a three year old. His voice was like a knife in my conscience.

At no point during all of that time did I stop glancing at my closet. Determined to fight off the urge to snoop, I turned to my library book. Kill two birds with one stone; improve myself and be a bigger person at the same time. Plus, I could squeeze some productivity into the day. Quiet reading time was pleasant enough, but it was _not_ an effective way to divert my attention once it'd been caught by something juicy. I couldn't keep my mind on the page and away from the duffle. My fingers itched and I was about to start sweating. It wasn't worth it. I needed to look. Besides, I'd filled my quota for will power twice over today. And he did leave the bag in _my_ closet. It isn't snooping if it's in your own apartment, right? There would be nothing wrong about it at all.

I still hadn't quite convinced myself, though. In a last ditch effort to forbear temptation, I started cleaning. I scrubbed and swept and dusted and polished. I sorted laundry and washed dishes. Everything I cleaned was slightly closer to the closet than the last, until I was standing there in front of it with the door open. My innocent purpose; to organize my vast collection of shoes, of course.

_Damn._ Inquisitiveness was eating me alive. At this rate, I wasn't long for this world. _How would that be noted on my death certificate? Mastication via Meddlesomeness?_ My mother would iron her way straight through the board to have a daughter pass away trying to resist the draw of an overnight bag that a sexy mercenary had stowed in her bedroom closet. _Well, I can't have that, can I?_ So, really I'd be doing it for my family, for the greater good. It would be irresponsible _not_ to look.

The second my fingertips landed on the zipper, my phone rang, sounding out like the bag's security alarm and scaring the begeezus out of me. I shot backwards and flung the door closed like my mother had just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar before dinner. My heart now hammering in my chest, I was too preoccupied to consciously ignore the message being left on my machine. It was Joe, again. "Cupcake," he sounded exhausted, "we have to talk about this. You can't avoid me for the rest of your life, Stephanie." I could hear him sigh, deeply. "Please, call me." He hesitated, and then added quietly, "I love you."

I looked from the closet to the phone and back again. I felt more than guilt. I felt shame. I felt dirty. And suddenly it didn't matter to me what anyone else had to say or what they thought of me. I couldn't care less if all of Trenton sat in to watch the entire drama. All I knew was that things couldn't go on as they were, audience be damned. I grabbed my keys. [*003]

I made it all the way to Joe's house, determination intact, only hesitating when the moment came to either ring his doorbell or let myself in with my key. The decision was made for me. Joe answered the door before I could knock. He was in worn, ripped, jeans slung low on his hips, a faded TPD t-shirt, and he was barefoot. He looked tired and ragged, tousled hair and a five o'clock shadow. My hormones betrayed me and my mouth went dry. He looked positively delicious.

"Hi, Cupcake." He was holding the door in one hand and a beer in the other.

"Hello," I croaked awkwardly. I hadn't totally thought through how I wanted this to go and was suddenly unsure of myself. _Suddenly? Who am I kidding?_ I never know what to say to a man who looks as good as he did, and the hormonal rollercoaster I'd been on lately had my stomach churning.

"Beer?" he offered, his speech signaling the several he'd already had. When he gestured with the bottle he was holding I could see that it was nearly empty as well. I just shook my head. This conversation was going to bad enough as it was. A buzzed Morelli would take everything up a notch.

Still not moving from the doorway, he frowned, "So, what did you decide to come to say to me?" I had no idea. Joe stared, unhappy.

When I still didn't answer, he huffed and turned away from me, leaving the door open as the only invitation. I gently closed the door behind me and followed hesitantly. ESPN was on the television. Bob was perched on the couch working on a pile of Pino's food wrappers on the coffee table, where I saw the collection of Joe's other empties.

Joe made it most of the way across the room before rounding on me. "You're never going to believe it, Steph. It's the damnedest thing. Someone broke in while I was at work," he swung his arm to indicate the house, "and they stole everything of yours from the place, but didn't leave a _single_ fingerprint on a thing of mine. Sorry about that, Cupcake, but crime just seems to follow you around, I guess. Surprising it didn't hit me too this time. You're usually sticking someone else in this shit with you."

I tried not to bristle at his words. He was goading me on purpose. "Joe, I..."

He cut me off. "I see you and your… _friends_ made it through your _accident_ well enough. You're lucky. I would know. Getting hit with that Buick is no picnic."

"At least you aren't screaming anymore," I said lamely.

Joe ignored me. I'm not sure he even heard me in the first place. "You know, I heard a strange thing down at the station the other day. The Buick wasn't hotwired and none of the guys at the scene could find the car keys. They can't figure out how in the world Con Stiva might have started that car. Life's one big mystery I guess." He threw his hands in the air in an exaggerated shrug. "But I heard they've got Eddie working on it," he bit out nastily. "I'm sure he'll get to the bottom of it all."

_Oh, no_. "Let me explain."

The shouting began abruptly and with strength. "I don't want to know, Stephanie! I don't want to hear it!" And the pacing came next.

I looked around and saw the days of clutter and debris that had piled up since I'd left. In the days since, Joe must not have picked up a single item once it'd fallen. There was dirty laundry draped over the backs of chairs, food wrappers and crumpled napkins on the end tables, empty cans and bottles, dirty bowls and silverware, and a teetering stack of work files beside the couch. As my eyes finished scanning they settled back on Joe. He wasn't showing signs of slowing down anytime soon. Thinking it best to wait until he'd lost his head of steam to continue, I turned my attention to some of the various articles of clothing. I gathered a shirt, a jersey, a pair of slacks, shorts.

"Stop it!" Joe pointed an angry finger at me. "Don't touch a fucking thing!"

I was startled into dropping them all again. I swallowed thickly, glancing around. "The house is a mess, Joe."

"You've got some brass ones you know that? You run off, take your shit, then walk in here like you own the place and start right up with the housewife routine. You've made it perfectly clear that this is not your home. Now you remember that!"

I couldn't believe it. I was working up my own healthy head of steam now. _He was going to play the victim here! As if I was some jezebel, some usurper! I don't think so!_ "And what about you, Joe? You had no right to make a scene down at the station in front of the whole force! And act like I'm your personal property! The entire city knows all the details by now!"

"Then they'll know that you and that psycho were standing around holding hands like you were on your goddamned honeymoon!"

Of course he'd bring up Ranger. As soon as it's his turn to defend his actions, he always brings up Ranger. "I already told you, it was a long night and a lot happened. I'm not going to apologize for the fact that both of us were upset."

His temper was approaching the red zone. "And neither will I! I had as much reason as you to be there and to be angry as hell!"

I stopped short for a second, hearing my own words thrown back at me. Hadn't that been exactly how I'd felt that night? But I didn't let it distract me. This was different. Joe might have had the right to be involved, but he _did not_ have the right to make demands and fling at me the fury that he had. "But not to treat me the way you did!"

"Can you really blame me? After everything you've been through, there is still always more! You run straight at it!" He started pacing again, the thuds of his walking cast punctuating the muttering in rapid, heated Italian. "I can't believe I'm drinking," came out in English. He stopped and looked down at the bottle in his hand. "What the fuck am I doing?" With his back turned to me, he wildly threw the bottle into the kitchen. It made it all the way to the far end of the house and hit with enough force to shatter spectacularly.

I was shocked and when he turned back to me, I took several steps away from where he was standing. Some of the rage seemed to leave him. "When will it finally be enough for you, Stephanie? Assault wasn't enough. Arson, getting shot, gangs, bombs, KIDNAPPING! None of it was enough. What's it gonna take? Rape? Murder? Actual criminal charges?"

He said it all like an accusation, as if I'd made all of those things happen on purpose because I get a kick out of it. "I HAD had enough! And I quit didn't I? But it didn't stop, Joe. It's not going to stop either. I've been in it too long. I will never live in a world without bad guys. There will always be enemies. There will always be risk."

"Not for you. Not if you get out, Stephanie." He voice had a pleading quality to it. "I mean really get out." He started gesturing angrily again. "Riding with Lula isn't out. Hanging around with Ranger and his thugs isn't out. Sneaking off where you shouldn't be and asking questions that you should leave to the police is not getting out. Car chases with your Granny is not getting out." His voice was rising again. "Leaving the house in the middle of the night to ram lunatics with your Uncle's Sander's Buick is not getting out!"

"Orders, Joe? That's what you're saying. Do this Stephanie. Don't do that Stephanie. I know what's best for you, Stephanie. Make a choice, Stephanie. That's your solution, more ultimatums?"

"It isn't an ultimatum! It's common fucking sense! You're going to get yourself killed!

"I'm still here aren't I? I've managed so far! Maybe I am a magnet for trouble, but do you have any idea how many skips I've taken in successfully or how many cases I've helped solve? For christsake Joe, I cleared _your_ name when you were FTA! The first job I worked was with you and it was the first time I was bombed _and_ I got shot!"

"All that tells me is that this entire thing has been one disaster after another from the _very beginning_. It just keeps getting worse!"

"Ugh!" I gave an uncontrolled, irate shout. "I'm not quitting my job! That's a fact you've got to face!"

Joe's voice lowered to an eerie level and his eyes flashed. "It's more than the job, Steph."

"And I'm not sacrificing the rest of my life either!"

"Ranger is bad news."

"It's _my life_!" I thumped my chest in my fervor and winced slightly at the pain. "My friends are just that and they aren't going anywhere."

"He'll be the death of you if not more people!"

I learned a long time ago that it did no good to try to defend Ranger to Joe. "I'm going back to Vinnie's," I blurted out. He needed to understand that I was serious.

That shocked Joe into momentary silence. "Cupcake." There was another long aggravated silence during which Joe just stared at me, breathing heavily. "We both know what this is about, or should I say who?" He forced the words through clenched teeth.

"I know what you think it's about, but I don't agree with you," I snapped back just as stonily.

"You can't tell me it's nothing. It's obvious. The way he looks at you." Joe paused and turned away from me for a moment like the sight pained him. When his gaze returned it was sharp and agonized. "And you look back, Steph. Did you know that? You look right back at him the same way."

"How many times do I have to say this?"

"I know you stayed with him during the Slayer mess," he interrupted.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't deny it.

His eyes bore into me. "I've heard about your trips to the alley."

That one caught me off guard. I couldn't deny it, or defend it.

"And I know you fucked him," he spat at me.

I reeled backward slightly as if I'd been punched in the gut. _How could he know that?_ I still didn't reply, but I think my reaction had been answer enough.

The pure rage he exuded was frightening. "How long has it been? That's what I don't know. How long have you been screwing him? The first car, or was it when he was in hiding? Was it in Virginia? Maybe it wasn't until you were actually staying with him. Do you do it in his bed or in yours or is it both now? Maybe in one of those big, shiny trucks with tinted windows? Does he fuck you on that desk of yours? Tell me that. Do you screw in the supply closet?"

The room echoed with the resounding crack as I slapped him. You could have pushed him over with a feather.

I tried to keep my voice steady through the tears pooling in my eyes. "This is the very last time I'm going to say this to you. Ranger and I are not involved. We work together. We are friends. Period."

Joe wasn't backing down. "He's been at your place every night since Stiva's. I know that too."

I could have scratched his eyes out, I was so furious. "You don't know shit Joe! And you're never going to learn." I turned to leave, but he grabbed my elbow tightly and swung me back around.

"How long?"

"Have I ever been that easy Joe?" I screamed in his face. "You've known me almost my entire life. Have I ever in my whole life been as easy as that? Am I a slut who'll screw any man who looks in my direction? Do you think I'm some Friday Night Fuck that will let a man roll in and out of my bed? Did I ever let anyone get away with that? Or do you think I'm a whore? Do you think I pay him back for the cars and the phones and the body guards with ass? Have I ever let anyone treat me that way?"

"How long?"

Wrenching myself away, I hissed at him, almost a whisper. "You really want to know?" My tears were flowing freely now. "You want to know the truth so badly? I did sleep with him." I saw the pain in Joe's eyes despite the fact he'd claimed to already be so informed. "Once. Once, Joe. A long time ago. You and I were fighting and broken up. One of the many times you and I have fought and broken up. I slept with him once, and he sent me packing. I wanted it, Joe. I wanted _him_." I had to pause then as I choked out a sob. "Then he left. He rejected me. I wanted more and HE refused ME! And everytime you accuse him, you throw it back in my face!" I gave a small, crazed laugh through my tears. "You talk about the way he looks at me and how you can just see how badly he wants me, but what you don't know is that he had me and he walked away. He doesn't want me, Joe. He told me to come back here to work things out, that his life and relationships were mutually exclusive. He told me to go back to you, that you were a good man and that you'd be good to me." Another insane laugh. "I don't know what you think you know or what you think is happening between us, but one thing I can promise you is that I am not and I will not be in a relationship with Ranger. He has made that clear enough."

The heavy silence that followed was pure, absolute, overwhelming torture. I'd basically declared, with emphasis, that Joe had been second choice, a consolation. He stood there, staring off at something I couldn't see. Time seemed to have stopped. We were stuck in some hellish limbo. He didn't say anything. He didn't make a sound. He didn't look at me. He simply moved to the door and held it open. The sight of Joe, shutdown and detached, because of me, because of what _I'd_ done, what _I'd_ said, broke my heart more than anything he could have ever done to me. I did love him. If I hadn't known it before, I would have realized it in that moment, at the sight of a man once so familiar, looking so foreign. The last thing I had meant to do was hurt him so brutally, so completely. There was no redemption for what I'd just shared with him. There was no apology that could ever salve such a wound. There was nothing I could do, but leave.

As I passed him, Joe spoke, in a low, dead tone. "I am done with you." [*004]

He said it with disgust in his voice and I felt part of my soul splinter. I ran from the house, as fast as my feet would carry me, blinded by the sting of my tears in the cold night air.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*002 : Sia - Numb] [*003 : Rihanna - Unfaithful] [*004 : Vic Chesnutt – I'm Through]<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 10**

I made it six entire blocks before I had to pull over and park the Duc. The tears and the helmet were too much to handle all at once. I couldn't see a freaking thing. If I had kept going, I was sure to kill someone. And it would probably be some innocent local instead of the person on whom all of my animosity was currently focused. Not that he deserved it. _I deserved it._ It was more than obvious that the guilt I was feeling was unexpectedly and uncomfortably justified. I'd just done one of the most insensitive and _stupid_ things of my entire life. I'd unloaded on Joe all of my anger at him AND all of my aggravation with Ranger. As I mentally reviewed what I had shouted at him, I knew that a lot of what I'd spouted had been meant for Ranger's ears… not Joe's. And there might have been some displaced self-castigation in there as well. _How long have I been doing that? How long have I been misdirecting my frustrations?_

I could almost hear the telephones ringing all over the 'Burg already. There was no way in hell that Mrs. Del Preto hadn't heard the crashing glass when Joe broke that bottle. That isn't even taking the shouting into consideration. Images of my mother ironing the very clothes she was wearing ran through my mind and I felt like I might pass out, just from the fear of our next encounter. How terrible of a sin would it be if I decided to eat a piece of cake? _No, no, no, Steph. That was at least one thing I was still determined to do right._

When I looked up and I saw where I was, I blew out a quick breath. If 'grateful' was an emotion that I'd been capable of at the time, that's what I would have felt. I was at the playground. Yeah, _that_ playground. The one where I met Joe. I was four years old at the time, and at that age Val was my arch-nemesis. She'd thought that it was funny to push me into him and tell his babysitter, his cousin Loretta, that I was now her responsibility. Then she happily ran off with Gina Bartel to go brush each other's hair or giggle or learn to sew or some other girlie crap. So that was how I 'officially' met Morelli. It was in that same park where he first kissed me, on the playground near the big slide, the tall, old, metal giant that baked in the afternoon sun and burned the back of our legs. The one where, years later, I kissed Bobby Zawiki. The one where Mary Lou told me all about Aunt Flo and gave me the 'Best Friends' bracelet that I still keep, to this very day, at the bottom of my jewelry box. It was my home away from home when I was eleven. And at least that night, it was still a version of home to me, a comfort of sorts in my misery. [*005]

I regressed. I cried. I slumped on the swing set and pumped my feet. I wanted to erase that night and have the chance to do it over again. I wanted to forget who I was for _one minute_. I wanted to feel the way I'd felt all those long years ago.

The Morelli/Plum drama had finally crescendoed. There was no way for me to avoid that fact. Denial wasn't an option. Humiliation, however, was totally possible. In fact, it was a reality that was knocking me upside the head and square in the chest. The only thing that made regular breathing an option for me was the fresh night air – and maybe the thought that Joe had a scarier grandmother than I did was helping a little too. At least I wouldn't have to face Bella when the rumors started. And there would surely be rumors. There would be all kinds of rumors.

There always had been, even when we were those little children on the playground. He'd gotten the ball rolling the day he pantsed me while I was hanging from the monkey bars. I didn't help matters when I pushed him out of a tree that we were climbing and he had to go home and explain to his mother why his clothes were torn. I'd always liked the idea of that. It served him right. Then there'd been the day he tied my shoelaces together from under the bleachers at a junior high school football game. It had been the most embarrassingly public stumble of my life. After that I wasn't in the mood to be sneaky, so I just waited until we were alone in the stairwell outside of the Biology labs and gave him a good, hard shove. The fall dislocated his shoulder. Come to think of it, a lot of what I'd done to Morelli over the years involved pushing him from great heights and causing him bodily injury. Things escalated to the breaking point though, after Tasty Pasty. We both hit new lows and it was probably for the best that we parted ways after that. Who knows what else the two of us would have been capable of after I'd nearly committed vehicular homicide?

Nothing had changed when we eventually met up with one another again. He thwarted and disgraced me repeatedly while I was trying my hardest to make my new job work and keep my life from circling the drain. So I stole his car. Then – _groan_ – the shower curtain incident. After that, I was a little proud of myself when I locked him up in that truck, with several dead bodies and a drug shipment, and then managed to do what he was so certain I never could; take him in and clear his name.

As far back as I can remember we've been trapped in that 'unhealthy pattern of behavior.' He hurts me. I hurt him. He retaliates. I re-retaliate. Always the same; his turn, my turn, his turn, my turn. It wasn't any different when we were a couple. He'd get pissed. I'd get pissed. He'd try to make a stand. I'd repulse his efforts with everything I had. We both end up frustrated and angry. And on it went.

The place we weren't hurting each other was in bed. The irony was that having spent so much time between the sheets, intimate and open, only made all of the other moments more and more painful. How can two people be so pleased but so disgruntled, so affectionate but so cruel? We were the epitome of dysfunction. _How in the world did it take me this long to recognize it? How is it that other people still don't see it?_

Because the moments in between were what most people saw. Because when things weren't running off the rails they were good, really good. Joe and I had been more than lovers. We were friends. We laughed and talked and shared. We sent each other surreptitiously amused and horrified glances across my parents' dinner table and we liked to cuddle to sports games. In the moment, we had always been comfortable and content; we loved each other. It was the future, or the immediate past, that caused all of our friction. But two people can't live their lives always in the moment. Not really. Joe and I tried, again and again. But it wasn't possible. The future just kept creeping up on us.

Dusk had fully fallen, passed beyond the horizon, and was replaced with the inky, Jersey night sky. The park was deserted. I looked at my watch. It was 10:20. The 'Burg was safely tucked away in bed. Everyone but me. I was alone in a playground after dark feeling sorry for myself. I sat on my swing, weeping quietly.

How many hours had I spent on these swings? I recalled jumping from their heights, the sun on my face and the wind in my hair. I remembered being ten years old and thinking that nothing would ever take me higher than that swing set did. It felt like I was launching to the moon, risking life and limb for the rush, for the feeling of empty space below me as I flew through the air. I remember one day in particular, Mary Lou, Eddie, and I had dragged some furniture cushions with us. Our brilliant plan was that when we jumped from the swings, we would land on them. You know, to minimize possible injuries. Of course the injuries inflicted by our enraged mothers more than made up for the negligible protection those cushions had provided. I never have been much of a planner. A fact that was disconcertingly clear to me as I looked around again.

I hadn't known what to expect when I finally arrived at Joe's because I hadn't slowed down long enough to give it any thought. This past week I'd been pummeled by that particular flaw. It might be my worst. And as I thought back to all those years with Joe, I had the rather anticlimactic revelation that it wasn't a new trait. I'd always been that way. The old Stephanie and the new one were the same person in that respect. It was depressing. It was so awful. _How many years of my life was I going to spend making the same mistakes?_ The crushing weight of it had me reflexively laughing at myself through my tears. _What was wrong with me? _I'd rushed into marriage with The Dick. I jumped headfirst into the deep end of a dangerous profession I knew nothing about. Then I left Vinnie's just as quickly in a moment of vexation. I'd taken the job with RangeMan without giving a lot of thought to what that would mean for me, and as it turned out, it meant something quite different than I had ever anticipated. Moving out of Joe's had been a snap decision. Even the small things I did blindly, like storming out on Tank.

Whims. My life was ruled by whim and impulse. I lived by my gut and not my head, and that had the potential for disaster, a fact I've proved many times over. It's just that now the stakes were higher. So much higher. The life and death kind of higher. I ran off to Stiva's without thinking it through. I was nearly killed. Then I _immediately_ did it again. When I thought about it that way, I couldn't fault the others for being upset. When I'm in trouble their lives revolve around my safety, and I don't even spare it a second glance. Something was going to have to change, something more than just a gym membership.

I let the swing slowly lose momentum and glide to a gentle stop. Placing my feet firmly on the ground, I stood and squared my shoulders.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Bobby Brown let the chair spin around one more revolution before reaching out to touch the desktop and stopping its progress. His eyes swept over the screens in front of him. Every monitor held a motionless picture, the dinner hour temporarily drawing the entire city's attention. There wasn't any activity at their 24-hour accounts and the rotating building surveillance didn't reveal anything other than Guzman's preference for the silence of the night shift. Bobby was alone tonight; having to work a rare 'one man' shift in the control room. He found solace in the knowledge that this was the last night of furlough and after the others returned, he and Lester would both get three full days off as well. It had been almost two years since Bobby had more than 36 hours of 'offline leave' all at once. Maybe he'd visit his mother and sisters. It had been far too long since he'd been able to make it back home.

Distracted by his mental travel plans, he didn't answer the phone until the third ring. Crossing his fingers, he hoped that it wasn't the boss calling. "RangeMan, Brown."

_No such luck._ "Report." Ranger's fierce tone let him know that the delay had been noticed.

"All's clear and quiet. Lone man on deck. Santos is due back in thirty."

There was a pause on the line, and then Bobby heard the question he hated most in this world. "Stephanie?"

He pulled an ugly face that he made sure wouldn't be picked up by any of the cameras and typed in the transponder numbers that he, along with all of the other men, had memorized by now. He let a whispered curse slip past his lips, thankful that it had been too quiet to be heard over the phone. "The Ducati is parked outside Morelli's."

Bobby winced when there was no reply, just the firm click of the line disconnecting. _Not again_.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I didn't want to go home. If I went home I'd either wallow all by my lonesome or make a fool of myself in front of Ranger. I didn't need that. But I didn't know where to go either, not at that time of night. Even if someone was awake, I'd surely be disturbing them with a visit. I pulled away and started driving without a destination in mind.

Twenty minutes later I pulled up outside of the Kloughn house and stopped questioning my own judgment. The lights were still on at the back and I thought I saw a shadowed figure travel across the kitchen curtains. At least one other person was awake in the 'Burg. Or maybe Albert fell asleep in the kitchen and left the light on. I wouldn't put it past him. As I swung my leg over the bike and pulled off my helmet, I spared one fleeting thought in the hopes that it wasn't a party of sick daughters who were keeping the family up into the wee hours. I made my way around the house and gently knocked on the kitchen door. Val's face flashed in the window for a second before she opened the door, and my reaction was pride. 'Good girl,' I had thought, knowing how smart it is for a woman to be suspicious of a knock on her back door this late at night.

Her eyes were immediately concerned. "What's wrong? Is it Mom or Dad? Grandma?"

"No." I felt like an asshole. Of course she was on guard. Who wouldn't be if I showed up at their house in the middle of the night? "Can I come in?"

She gave me a searching look and I knew that she could tell, even in the low light, that I'd been crying. Then she glanced behind her with a frown. Leaning farther out the cracked door, she whispered, "I'll meet you in the garage in five. Albert fell asleep on the couch; I don't want to wake him up."

Nodding, I retreated. I stood there in her garage, looking around me, and couldn't help but think about Joe again. _Would I ever beat the hurt of this? Would thoughts of him sting forever? Would they sneak up and ruin me one day, haunting me like an undiagnosed genetic condition that appears out of nowhere and destroys you in the blink of an eye? _Fuck. Why am I thinking things like that?

It wasn't long before Valerie shuffled into the garage, complete with house slippers and bathrobe. "What are you doing here?" she asked while brushing off the seat beside me on the dirty old workbench. I wished that I had thought to do that. My ass was probably filthy now.

"I didn't want to go home."

It's been years and years since we've sat next to each other like this. It was a habit we'd learned from our father. The garage was his domain and every now and then we'd be honored with an invitation into that sanctuary. Once we were old enough, Val and I started to have our own private powwows. Apparently Val's mind was heading in the same direction as mine.

"You haven't come to me since that time in college," she said, reminding me of the last thing I needed to be reminded of tonight.

I shrugged.

"So it's over with Joe?" she asked, her disapproval laced with an edge of doubt.

"Shit, I knew it. It's already started." I knew there was no way to keep it from my mother, but I'd hoped I'd get a few hours before the fallout found it's way to my family. "How bad?"

I was surprised when she reached down and pulled a huge bottle of Arbor Mist out of the cabinet behind us. Val was more like my mother than I thought. "I might have had a few calls," she said as she handed it to me.

I couldn't think of a reply that wouldn't sound sad or inane. So instead I just took a swig. This night was a loss anyway; I might as well waste the rest of it. _That's the careless attitude that got me into this mess in the first place isn't it? Damn_. If I knew what was good for me, I'd erase the phrase 'might as well' from my vocabulary completely. I took one more pull on the bottle before passing it back. "I'm sure there'll be more. Mom's probably unplugged the phone by now."

"Hours ago. I went over as soon as it started. The phone was shut off by the time I got there." Val drank again. "Plonka was there too. I guess Grandma had invited him to dinner. So Mom was already in a piss poor mood even before the phone lines started burning. When I walked into the kitchen she was trying to attack him with the iron. That man can scream. Dad got the iron away from her before anyone got hurt."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"We all cleared out pretty quickly after that."

"We should just let her tipple."

She shoved the bottle back at me. "You tipple. She can have cake."

I knew then that I wanted to cry.

"I don't understand you sometimes," Val said with more genuine interest than censure. "What's the problem with Joe anyway? Why don't you want to marry him?"

I took another long drink. "It's complicated."

"Not really. You either marry a guy or you end it and find one that you can marry."

My brows headed north. "This from the Disney Princess?"

"Now _that_ is complicated," she emphasized with a flick of her eyes in the direction of the house.

"You do love Albert, don't you?" I didn't understand Val either. She was all for marriage. Even without the common last name, the Kloughns were a family. Why skip out on her own wedding? What had chilled her feet so suddenly? "You already have a daughter together."

"Of course I love him, but… well he's Albert."

"I thought he was your snuggie-uggums," I swear, I really did try to say it without laughing.

"We can't all have 'World's Sexiest Man' contestants chasing after us, you know," she snapped with an edge of bitterness.

"I think 'chasing' is too strong a word. It's more like they tolerate me."

"Whatever, Steph. You need to get your head out of your ass."

"Maybe, but you should take a good hard second look at Albert. He's not Steve."

"Believe me, I know."

"There must be something about him that gave you butterflies, something that makes your heart race. Val, you see a lot of smart guys with dumb women, but you hardly ever see a smart woman with a dumb guy*, and you're a smart woman. So he's not perfect, but he's a good man and you love each other."

"I could say the same thing about you and Joe."

I ground my teeth and wanted to pull her hair out. "Could you give the Morelli shit a rest, even if it's just for tonight." I felt a familiar, threatening sting behind my eyes and hated the way my voice quivered as I asked, "Please?"

"Then cut the hypocritical lectures. I don't need to hear that either right now!"

I knew that we were sliding awfully close to name calling, and I didn't come to Val for that. "Besides, what if I don't want to get married again?"

She looked at me like I'd turned purple with polka dots. "You want to be alone? That's why you won't marry Morelli?"

I sighed. "Being unmarried and being alone are not the same thing." Drink. Pass.

"Well they feel really damn close to me," she admitted with unfocused eyes, confusing me even more about her recent dash from the alter.

Honestly, the strange thing was that deep down I think they were starting to feel a bit similar to me too. We sat quietly for a while; drink, pass, drink, pass.

"When Steve left me —"

I cut in with wide eyes. "Is that what you heard, that Joe left me?" I winced as I interrupted her. _How fucking insensitive am I?_

Val didn't seem to notice. "I heard that there was a lot of anger and I know from experience that you rarely start fights," she paused to take a drink, "and you finish them even less." She gave me a pointed look before beginning again. "When he left me, I spent every day feeling like I was suffocating. As soon as the girls were out of earshot, I was balling like a baby." She took another drink and passed the bottle back to me. "I know you and Mom have your differences, but if it wasn't for her…"

I hadn't really planned on getting toasted with Val that night, but if she was going to start talking about our parents, than it would be better if I kept drinking. Hell, it might be better if we had some tequila.

"You should talk to Dad. This Stiva thing has gotten out of hand. He's worried about you."

_Nuh-uh. That was where I was drawing the line. I was not about to go there. _With the wine I already had in me and the recent memory of his silent support as he helped me pack up my things at Joe's, I'd be a sniveling mess. I'd had enough of crying. Drink, pass.

"I bought you a gym membership."

It took Val a moment to absorb that subject change, and she frowned when she did. When she passed the bottle back to me it was with more force than I expected and I almost dropped it. "Gee, thanks. That's real sweet, Sis." Then, as if I hadn't had a strange enough night, I watched in wonder as she moved over to the far side of the garage and pulled a disposable lighter and a half empty packet of cigarettes out from behind an old, rusty bucket.

"You shouldn't smoke." _Hey, I didn't know what to say_. Saint Valerie was the last person I'd expect to have a hidden stash of cancer sticks.

She rolled her eyes and shot me that 'older sister' look that told me if I kept talking I'd be sorry. "Right, I'm gonna take your advice; because you lead such a healthy lifestyle."

"You're the one with booze and smokes hidden away in her garage."

"You know what's never been in this garage?" her eyebrows inched a little higher in challenge as she spoke. "A bomb." And Val scores a point.

I had a flashback to the day I'd accidentally broken her music box. The hurt she'd laid on me was enough to make me back down for years afterwards. I could probably take her now, but it wouldn't be worth the effort. Plus, I'd have to think of some way to explain the black eye to Ranger. And even worse, Lula. This was definitely one of those fights that I should walk away from and let go until another day. _See? I've already started to take a greater interest in my personal safety. That's progress isn't it?_ "It's that new ladies' gym on State. 'Lou and I joined," I told her, "and we got a membership for Lula too."

"Well," she looked down at herself, "it can't hurt." She smiled at me, and I was glad to see it. "Besides, it's you're dime."

"We signed us all up for a self defense course. It starts in two weeks."

She looked at me in a long and full survey that had me feeling uncomfortable and then shifted her gaze to stare out of the garage window for several minutes. I had no idea what she was about to drop on me, but that look always meant the same thing from Val; she was making a decision that you weren't going to like. "Can the girls take the course? I've got some money saved."

Sometimes I forgot she was a mother. "I can check, but I doubt it."

"I was just thinking about Clyde Cone and…" she hesitated and shivered, "Abruzzi." The way she whispered his name, as if she said it too loud he might appear in front of us, made me shiver too. Images from that night flashed in my mind, unbidden. I took another long pull on the bottle as Val continued, "If the Stiva's can be complete psychos and fool the entire 'Burg for years, I hate thinking about who else might be out there."

"Hey," I said, pulling her attention back to the present, "I'm better than I used to be, and I plan on getting even better." She nodded, but didn't seem reassured. I let some intensity creep into my voice and caught her eyes, "I won't let anyone touch a hair on their heads." The fierce urge to protect my family rocked me and I knew that I meant those words more than I could express.

"Thanks," she said. Her smile had become lazy and my mind was starting to muddle.

"How are the girls doing?" With as frequent as my visits home are, I never really stop long enough to visit with my nieces. The warm and fuzzy feelings spreading intoxication throughout my extremities had me wondering why I didn't spend more of my time with the girls.

"They're ok. I can't convince Mary Alice that she isn't a horse, but at least her new ideas about being a horse soul trapped in a human body means she's a better behaved horse than she used to be. Angie's doing well in school, but I wish she'd try harder to make friends."

"Let them be whatever they want while they're still kids," I pronounced remembering they way my mother always made us both attend to the same summer camp every year, causing one or the other of us a month of misery. "At least they're nothing like we used to be."

"Yet," she corrected me with a grimace. Then she started laughing, "Remember the night you tried to climb back into the bathroom window drunk?"

_Did I ever_. I made so much noise my father came out to see what was going on. Plus, I was too tipsy to keep my footing and I fell off the roof… directly on top of him. "I remember the night he caught you and Tommy Jancek in the back of his van."

She groaned, "Ugh, I should have known you'd bring that up."

"Of course," I heard my tongue trip on the words and faintly slur, "no reason not to."

"After that Dad had to interrogate every boy that came to the door," Vall pouted like it was only yesterday that our father had sat us down for his 'Plum Rules of Dating' speech.

"And you weren't allowed to go anywhere with anyone unless they came to the door first to get the piss scared out of them." It was my turn to laugh. "Paul Anguiano was the best."

"He was so terrified of Dad he threw up when he realized we were going to be fifteen minutes late for curfew." We both giggled for several minutes at the memory of Paul hunched over our mother's geraniums.

Val was done laughing before I was. "You really don't want to have children?"

_Uh-oh_. Time for another drink. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Well, if you don't want to get married then –"

"I don't know, alright? Maybe."

I tried to pass the bottle back to Val but she waved it off and lit another cigarette. "You better decide soon."

An exasperated breath forced its way past my lips. "Look, all I know is that I don't want to have Joe's children. The idea scares the hell out of me. Beyond that, I have no clue."

She looked thoughtful for a minute and then asked gently, "What about Ranger's children?"

I tipped my head back and finished what was left of the wine. "Don't go there."

"What is going on between you two anyway?" The intensity of her gaze had me wondering how long she'd been waiting to ask me that. After all, it was the million dollar question.

And I had no idea how to answer it. "More than nothing and less than something."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, Val!" I sniffled. I can be a teary drunk. "He's so confusing."

"So are you." She shook her head at me with something akin to pity. My lower lip started to tremble. I don't remember much after that.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"Go away."

"You have to see this," Mary Alice whispered, giving Angie another shake.

"Go back to bed," Angie mumbled into her pillow.

"Get up. Get up."

"We have school in the morning." Anger was gathering in Angie's tone as she rolled over to glare at her sister.

"Can't you hear that? It's outside." Mary Alice was bent over her with wide eyes, her Black Beauty nightgown askew. "Come and look. I think Mom killed Aunt Stephanie."

"What?" Cleary still fighting off sleep, Angie folded her covers back and shifted her legs out of bed.

Mary Alice went to the window and pulled back the curtain. With their faces pressed to the glass, breaths forming small circles of fog, they peered out into the night. A weak light shone out across the backyard and illuminated their mother's figure, struggling to drag their limp aunt towards the backdoor. Angie's jaw fell. "Jellybeans!"

"Shh. She'll hear you," Mary Alice shushed her dramatically.

"What is she doing?"

"I think she's dead. Grandma is always saying that she'll get killed. Maybe Mom killed her."

"Shut up. That's ridiculous. Mom couldn't kill anybody."

"Sometimes she looks like she's gonna kill Albert."

"That's different."

"What should we do? Should we call the police? Ooh, we should call Joe!" Mary Alice was starting to sound excited.

"Be quiet! Let me think. There has to be an explanation." Angie's brow creased and her wheels spun for a few beats. "Maybe Aunt Stephanie is just hurt."

"Should we go help them? We can get Albert."

"No!" Angie didn't know what was happening, but she did know that whatever it was, Albert would probably make it worse. "Let's just watch and see what –"

At that moment Stephanie kicked one of her legs and groggily struggled out of her sister's grasp. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and emptied her entire stomach onto the grass.

"Ewww!" both girls chorused. Valerie craned her neck to look in their direction and they jumped back from the window like it bit them, stumbling and grabbing at each other for support.

"I told you she wasn't dead," Angie taunted.

"Do you think Mom saw us?"

"I don't know, but I'm not gonna wait to find out." Angie jumped back into her bed and under the covers, tucking herself down and pretending to sleep. On the other side of the room, her little sister followed suit.

Several minutes later, on the brink of sleep, Angie heard Mary Alice's soft whisper cut through the dark silence. "It's very quiet. Do you think we should check that mom's not killing her right now?"

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The blinking cursor taunted me. The penthouse apartment was quiet; the only sounds were the low hum of the computer's fan and the faint sound of my pen skimming across my papers. I glanced at the clock. Ten seconds max, that's all it would take to know exactly where she was. My fingers hovered above the keyboard in hesitation.

I'd had a day from hell. All the paperwork I'd planned to get done had to take a backseat to fieldwork. Of all the days to get an alarm call, it was one of the worst, and we had received two. First there was an alarm at Stevenson Suites that turned out to be nothing more than a small fire in the hotel kitchen. Then, a construction mishap took out power for an entire block, including Deloitte & Touche, which meant we had to send a response team and then post personnel to cover the location until systems are restored. What a nightmare.

It was late evening before I could finally escape from my desk. I'd headed straight for Stephanie's. I was surprised when I didn't see the Duc in her lot. There were several places she might have gone and I was too tired to drive around to all of them. So I called the control room instead. When I heard Bobby say 'Morelli' I felt sick. I could have killed someone. She was already back there. I left for one day and she'd gone back to him.

I was kicking myself as I made my way up to her apartment. _What else did I expect?_ She always goes back to him. It's my own damn fault, really. I'd even _sent_ her back to him at one time. God only knows what I'd been thinking when I spoke that day. I know I'd thought that I had good reasons at the time, but now, for the life of me, I can't understand how I could have ever considered it a smart move. It had been the safe move. I knew she'd go back eventually; why delay the inevitable?

With my duffle in hand, I had stood in the dark, silent room, waiting for that familiar calm to find me. But it was elusive. There was no peace to be had, only the stillness of empty space.

My attention returned to the present and the computer screen in front of me. I made my decision. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to pull up her location and confirm what I already knew. She was with him. At least if I wasn't positive, I might be able to hold onto a small doubt and get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a rough one. She would be at RangeMan in the morning.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

It was 6 a.m. when I was startled into awareness by my blaring alarm. I expressed my feelings on the subject with the heel of my foot, which was easily done since I'd collapsed onto my bed upside down. _How does that thing keep functioning despite the abuse I inflict on it daily?_ I struggled out of my covers, gave a long, languid stretch, and took a moment to listen to the early morning sounds of an apartment complex full of septugenitarians. Oddly enough, my time spent in this building had rendered those noises viscerally soothing. The trumpeting of nose blowing, the whistle of teapots, the gurgle of oxygen tanks and the intermittent rattle of pill bottles; it all had started to sound like dawn's birdsong to me. Yeah, I know; I'm not normal.

The pillow beside me, which I'd almost begun to think of as Ranger's, was untouched, crisp and cool. Coming fully awake, I dragged myself up and out of my room. But there was no Ranger. There was no smell of coffee brewing. I didn't hear the shower. There were no boots at my door or gun on my nightstand. My hand worked not to tremble as I reached for my closet door. His bag was gone. He must have come last night just to pick it up. The idea that he had been there, but didn't stay or even leave a note, stung a little. He didn't even say hello, or in his case, 'Yo.' Now I hadn't honestly thought that he was moving in with me when he'd brought it, but this departure seemed a little abrupt. _Then again, what else could I expect from him_. That was the way Ranger operated; here one minute and gone the next.

Snooze alarm to the rescue, for the second day in a row. It's probably a good thing that my mind never gets to wander down those dark paths for longer than nine minutes at a time. It's a shitty way to start the day. So my gloomy thoughts were stuffed into the 'this doesn't bother you' section of my denial files, and I got ready to join the waking world. I was hung-over and exhausted, but excited to be headed back to Vinnie's, which helped me to forget my other various woes.

That morning was to be my next attempt at change, a real change. So far the whole exercise thing was going well enough. My run had been along the typical circuit. I hadn't enjoyed it, I wasn't particularly good at it, and I wasn't too sure that it was making any kind of difference yet. Nevertheless, a morning run had occurred. _And that's the first step right?_ It was more of a commitment than I'd ever managed before; I suppose there was some pride to be felt in that. And the exercise still counts if you throw up halfway through, doesn't it?

After I'd run my normal route, I ran even farther to Val's and picked up the Duc, which I learned from her note on my kitchen counter was still parked outside her garage. I had no clue how I'd gotten back to my apartment the night before, but I crossed my fingers and hoped it hadn't been my father or a serial killer prone to obsessive behavior. Even Albert would have been preferable. My normal morning rituals resumed after that. I donned my RangeMan uniform and CAT boots and I reluctantly 'dressed' myself. The fear that skittered through my belly as I tucked the gun away told me what it was I needed to do first.

So my next stop was Sunny's. According to my watch, I was about three minutes too early. She wasn't open yet. In fact, she wasn't even there. I was peeking into the small windows of the shop when I saw the reflection behind me of a woman walking her dog. I stood up with a start. I wasn't being 'aware.' So I turned to face the street and settled farther back in the alcove of the shop's door to wait. In that position, my back was covered and I had a good view of the street for the entire length of the block. There was something about this whole 'aware of my surroundings' thing that put me on edge, as if it was conditioning me to be paranoid. I shifted nervously from one foot to the other as I waited. I was thinking about my kitchen walls. And Ram. Was it proper gun range etiquette to mention an incident like that to the people who are in your company that next time you held a firearm? I didn't much feel like discussing it with Sunny, but I felt like surprising her with another accidental discharge even less.

"Plum." Sunny appeared seemingly out of nowhere and startled the snot out of me. "Been waiting long?"

"No," I answered trying to catch my breath, "and please call me Stephanie."

"Well, Stephanie, I'm open," she said as she held the door for me. I followed her in. She made her way through the shop, flipping light switches and unlocking things here and there. She turned to me with an inquiring smile. "You look like you're ready for business."

I smiled back. "Yes, ma'am. I'm all business today."

"That's great, but if you ever call me _ma'am_ again you're going to find out how good I am at taking care of business with my gun."

We made our way back to the range. As we went, Sunny called out instructions about running the shop to someone I couldn't see in evidence, but I didn't dwell on it. I was too distracted by the gun and headgear Sunny were holding out to me. I put on the ear protection, but told her I wanted to use my own gun. If I was going to get used to using a gun, I wanted it to be the one I always had with me. Or at least the one I was always _supposed_ to have on me. She inspected it and tsked, "when was the last time you cleaned this?"

Crap. I hadn't been there five minutes yet and I'd already done something wrong. I had no idea when it was last cleaned. I hadn't had it that long. She spent the morning showing me how to properly clean my gun and explaining to me the importance of proper weapon maintence. Then she ran over the range's rules and regulations with me, showing me how everything worked, occasionally asking me questions or to repeat back to her the things she'd told me. Then I had to sign some more paperwork to confirm that I'd been given her safety orientation. I was there for almost an hour before I even aimed my gun. Sunny watched me shoot for a few minutes. Then she stopped me.

"Ok, Hun, that's enough. Next time I'm going to go over more with you about stance and handling. You did good."

I trust Ranger with my life, but I didn't always trust him to be honest with me about my performance. He was too supportive to tell me when I'd completely bullocked something. Hearing words of approval from an uninterested third party was exactly the encouragement I needed after yesterday's mishaps. Her praise was enough to put a little bounce in my step as I made my way to RangeMan.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*005 : Nick Cave – People Ain't No Good]<br>* Jenny & Das's Women's History Month Challenge – March 2010, PerfectlyPlum

** A/N: This chapter is probably as close to genuine angst as I'll venture for a long while. But if there's ever a time for angsty goodness, it's at the end of a long term relationship. Right? And coming up next... now that she'd had a few days (ten chapters *eye roll*) to try regaining her footing, Stephanie heads back to work with Lula and the Rangemen. **


	11. Chapter 11

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 11**

It was business as usual in the RangeMan control room. Hal and Junior were on monitors while Cal reviewed the shift summary from the night before, updating the Stevenson and Deloitte reports. Lester was there too, on duty until Tank or Ranger showed up to relieve him. He hated taking shifts as supervisor even more than Bobby did, but he understood why they were always chosen for it.

This week had been particularly grueling. Bobby had been in an unaccountably terrible mood for days and the energy in the building had been tense, the other men no doubt wondering about the bosses' absences. It was the norm that anyone caught up in a mess with Bombshell would get time off to recoup, but Lester couldn't remember the last time Tank and Ranger were both incommunicado at the same time. It had never been for anything other than a mission abroad. Well, he hoped that they'd had fun while they were on their little break, because they were going to have their hands full when they came back. Ranger was already booked through the end of the week with meetings in both Trenton and Boston and Tank had more than half a dozen walkthrough site inspections on his calendar.

Lester didn't have to hear the control room door behind him in order to know it'd been opened. Bobby stuck his head in the room and spotted Lester. "Ranger in?"

"Not yet."

"Avoid him if you can," Bobby cautioned. He had just gotten off the night shift and had a pretty good idea what was about to go down. He didn't envy the position Santos found himself in. "Run for the hills."

"I heard," Lester answered with a tired frown. "I'm just waiting to be relieved. Then I'm out of here."

Bobby wore a similar expression. "Shouldn't be too long now. He's been in the gym going on three hours."

Lester dipped his head in Bobby's direction, indicating the already packed bag his friend carried. "You headed to Smyrna?"

Bobby couldn't control the curve of his lips that slipped into place. "I'll be at my mother's kitchen table by nightfall."

"You lucky fucker!" Lester had a soft spot for Mrs. Brown's cooking, especially her Four Alarm Chili. "Bring me food."

Bobby wore a gloating smile and sent him a lazy salute in farewell.

"And say 'Hi' to your sisters for me," Lester called after him, "maybe take some pictures."

"Prick," Bobby retorted with more humor than anger. Then he was gone. And Lester couldn't wait to make his own exit. He wanted to be anywhere but in charge at RangeMan that morning. Ranger had a way of affecting the energy throughout the entire place. He'd been up and in the gym at 0430. That never boded well for anyone on the job. It was bound to be a brutal shift and it was no mystery to anyone why. The Rangemen would have to be blind _and_ stupid not to have caught on by now to the all too familiar pattern. This had to be a Plum-related situation if Ranger was in such a foul mood this early in the day. The only hope of reprieve was that Ranger might leave town.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Stephanie walked with her head high as the elevator doors opened onto the control room floor. There was a split second when she wanted to stop, to turn around and run away, but she ignored that fear the same way she's always ignored all of her other fears. To her it'd become an instinctual reflex to quash average logic and reservations. And over the past several years, it'd been an asset as often as it'd been a hindrance.

Stephanie's eyes surveyed the room as she crossed it. If asked, she would never admit that she was looking for Ranger. But she was. When she saw that he wasn't there, her exhale was an unfamiliar mixture of disappointment and relief. Everything around her, especially his absence, had a new significance. Tank's words drifted through her mind as she looked around at all of the state of the art equipment and dark, sleek office décor. He thought she belonged here.

Stephanie concentrated on that moment, that feeling. She could be a Rangeman if she chose it. They wanted her to be a Rangeman.

_Well, why not?_ she thought. _I've kicked ass on more than one occasion and I plan on doing it again. Preferably before my next rent payment was due._

She smiled as she caught Hal's eye. He looked rested, much better than the last time she'd seen him. Then her step hesitated slightly when she saw the way Junior's eyes widened when he saw her. Her step faltered altogether as Lester turned towards her.

"Plum." He looked surprised to see her.

"Santos," was her less-than-witty reply. She could clearly see the other men intentionally taking no notice of her. After several silent, uncomfortable moments of eye contact, she ducked her head on her way to her desk. They did always seem to know everything, but could they really tell how hung-over she'd been this morning? Did they think that she wouldn't come into work today? _Probably._ She could feel the difference in the air and wished she knew how to change it back to the way it had been.

But then all of that faded away as she caught sight of her desk. Her inbox was literally in danger of collapsing under the weight of the files stacked on it.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank squared off on the mat, lighter on his feet than anyone but his current opponent would ever believe him capable. Limber and relaxed, he was more prepared than even Ranger would be expecting, and that thought had him looking forward to their contest more than he had in a very long time. It wasn't often that someone bested Ranger at anything. And if Stephanie hadn't been exaggerating about how far off his game Ric was the past several days, this ass-kicking would go down in RangeMan history, and on camera. Tank was going to enjoy it.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

My ass wasn't numb, but there were the definite beginnings of ass-tingling headed in my direction. And I wasn't looking forward to it. I'd rather have my ass kicked than sit through this. The mountain of files in front of me wasn't shrinking fast enough and I was starting to fantasize about bonfires and industrial sized paper shredders. _I wonder how much it cost to rent a wood chipper? _Oh, geez. That thought made me wonder how many people I knew who could actually answer that question. When my eyes started to cross, I decided enough was enough. Whoever it was that wanted to delve into Horatio deSoto's past had already waited a week for the background check. Another hour wouldn't hurt. But there was also the small problem that I had no idea how to spend that hour…

I tried to imagine how Lula would spend her free time, but as it turned out, thoughts of Lula's hobbies led to thoughts of Bvlgari and La Perla. That lead to thoughts of Ranger. Then those thoughts of Ranger lead to an entire host of other dirty thoughts. _Damn_. This was getting me nowhere. And fast.

I took a deep breath and a good hard look at the computer screen in front of me. I decided that Tank was right. I needed to focus. I needed to apply myself. I needed to change the way I approached life at RangeMan, because that's exactly what it was – RangeMan was more than a job; it was a lifestyle.

_Oh, crap_. How terrifying was that idea? _Life_ at _RangeMan_. Yeah, I think I was starting to have that hyperventilation problem again. _Ok, Steph. Shake it off. You can do this._

I peeked around my desk and spotted Hal. I could ask him for help. He'd be understanding. I think. I walked over and tried not to look as nervous as I felt. It didn't really matter though. Hal looked nervous enough for the both of us, which I didn't really understand either. I mean, I wasn't even holding a weapon this time. "Could you help me log-in to the company systems? Silvio left some things out when he was teaching me to do searches."

I think Hal looked a little confused, but honestly I wasn't sure because he sort of always looked like that. "Are you talking about your password?"

"I don't have a password."

"It's the number on your RangeMan I.D."

"I don't have an I.D." Now I was certain; Hal looked confused. "It exploded," I tried to explain.

He turned in his chair and I knew I had his full attention. "How do you get around the building?" he asked.

Now I was confused too. "The door just opens when I get here." _Was it not supposed to do that?_

Hal's mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but had no idea what. So he just closed it. We stared at each other for a minute.

"I thought the doors were automatic," I offered.

"No," he said like he was talking to a child. "No. They're _always_ locked." Well, that made sense. RangeMan was in the security business. There was another minute of staring. "The fob," Hal said.

"What?"

"Do you still have the key fob?" His eyes flashed back to my desk and then made a detour along all of those SWAT pockets on the pants Ella had provided for me. "The key fob."

"Oh!" He meant Ranger's keys. Er, well, I guess they were sort of mine. "Yeah." I pulled them from one of those many pockets and held them out in the palm of my hand. Realization hit us both at the same time. I moved around the building like I was Ranger. I didn't just have a key to his apartment; I had access to everything.

He plucked the keys out of my hand and followed me back to my cubicle. "Do you mind?" he asked before sitting down at my desk. I shook my head no and watched over his shoulder as his hands flew over the keys. "The fob works throughout the building via a sensor similar to an E-Z pass. The computers are a different story. You'll need an identification number assigned to keep track of all your activity on the secure network and there are special levels of clearance required to access any client servers or our remote systems. I can issue you a new I.D. right now, but for some of these programs Silvio will need to authorize it. Without your number it looks like you've…" his voice trailed off with an air of wonder. He was reading through several complicated tables with hundreds of numbers and abbreviations I'd never seen before. "You're name isn't listed here. _You_ haven't been logging in. You're logged in as Ranger, which means that the reason you're having problems was because you were trying to log-in twice as two people on the same computer."

_Wow_. No, wait. Make that a _double wowzers_. Security authorization didn't get any higher than that. Hal played it off as if he hadn't just found out about it and kept up with the RangeMan version of geek speak. "Since you already have the access at the moment I can show you how to open these system records to keep track of your search activity and set up a modified quick access for the network…" He went on and on and on and I tried my best to follow all of the speedy clicking and flashing windows. It wasn't easy. And that was another large part of why I had doubts about the notion that RangeMan equaled 'home' for me. There was an awful lot of technology around this place, but at heart, I was still a paper maps and hefty phone books kind of girl.

The strangest part of it all was that I'd always felt at home at RangeMan. At least I had until now. Now that it'd been stated, articulated so bluntly, that RangeMan was my present and expected to be my future, the ease had started to fade. All of sudden it felt like the first day of high school, the morning after someone had waxed vulgar about me on all the men's room walls. I clearly remembered that feeling. Everybody watching you and wondering things they'd never actually ask you about. At least I knew that something like that would eventually drift away, just one moment in the past.

RangeMan was different. It was definitive. And I didn't know if I was ready to be defined.

Plus, that reminder of Morelli felt heavy on my chest and I scolded myself. I had too much work to do to spend my time sitting around feeling sorry for myself and regretting things I couldn't change. So I focused on the computer and the job. The new RangeMan job.

First thing was first, who's on duty and what are their assignments? This felt a little like snooping, but Tank did tell me to look, and that all of the other Rangemen knew who else was working at any given moment. There were bodyguards, a systems maintenance crew, a few administrative people, Ella, the control room guys – none of them listed as my own private watch dog. But there was a team of guys listed as 'on call' and I wondered if they were the ones who were always sent out when I destroyed a car or got caught in some loony-toon's crosshairs. My name, however, was conspicuously absent. _How do they pay me if I'm not clocking any hours? Per search?_

Next, I navigated my way through a sea of digital requisitions. Everything from cooking supplies to ammunition to paperclips had to be ordered and signed for. The amount of money that passed through the accounting department was humbling. But the best part was the list of tracking devices being currently monitored at that exact moment. Junior was on the other side of the room keeping track of forty-seven little active, blinking sets of coordinates. Two for a 'personal security' client currently on trial, another four 'personal security' devices for a client who wanted to protect his children from custodial interference, and seven for a 'secure transit contract,' maybe armored cars? Now this actually did border on snooping. I was pretty sure I wasn't meant to be able to track these people. There were a total of sixteen gadgets currently in commission for various vehicles in the RangeMan fleet, the Duc and Big Blue included. I wondered which one corresponded to which man? The very last three trackers on the list had been personally requisitioned by Ranger and their use wasn't listed. Just a wild guess, but I was probably carrying those on me somewhere.

_So many damn secrets_. I decided, that since I had unprecedented access, I was going to take advantage of it and just outright spy on Ranger. My hands were shaking with nerves and I couldn't stop glancing up in fear that I was being watched by more than the office's security cameras, but that didn't stop me. I pulled up the dates for the last time Ranger had been 'in the wind' for a significant amount of time. From what I could make out of the jargon and code words, he'd been hired to lead a high security detail for a private military contractor. They'd worked several places in the Middle East, protecting convoys that transported important people and supplies through contested areas. Basically, he drove back and forth across warzones. _Christ_. I don't know what I'd expected to find, but that one hadn't occurred to me. It was one of those things I instantly wished I could unknow. God only knows how many times he could have been hurt, or worse, in god only knows how many ways. I scrolled down and found one last thing, an attachment at the end. There'd been a partial payout on a seriously large insurance policy. He had been hurt. _Oh, boy, calming breaths, Steph. Don't cry_. He hadn't seemed hurt when he got back. And I'd seen most of his body since then. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been that bad. _Right? He just had good coverage_, I told myself. So I pushed it down and forged ahead.

I was finding out just how little I'd ever actually known about RangeMan and there were things I wanted to know if I was going to sign on with Tank. I was commitment-phobic as it was without adding my complete ignorance on top of it. So, as I read about clients, assignments, and all manner of personnel, I began to see what I'd been so blind to for so long; RangeMan was indeed an organization. It wasn't magic. It wasn't the Justice League. It wasn't nefariously clandestine. As Tank had so succinctly explained; it wasn't the mafia. I had business experience and could clearly see that RangeMan was a very intelligent, very successful company. It was dangerous work, but it was well-run.

Once I'd seen the organized lists, everything accounted for and triple checked, it became clearer to me how Ranger managed to do the things he did. It was like finding out that Batman wasn't actually a superhero at all; he was just a smart guy who could throw a mean punch and wore a really cool utility belt. Which, when you think about it, is exactly who Batman was.

Although, knowing that they weren't superheroes made it frightening to consider exactly what it was that all of the Rangemen did. Sure, they bailed me out of scrapes when I needed it, but they also went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make sure a hell of a lot of people stayed safe and slept soundly every night. _Tank wanted me to do this with them? Enough to seek me out and ask me personally?_ I didn't know how to feel about that. The only thing I felt was unsure. The possibilities for disaster and success were equally daunting in their own ways. Whether it be the shame and embarrassment of failure or the responsibility and pressure of working as a Rangeman, the end result would be a heavy load to shoulder.

_Ding, ding, Ding, dong_. I heard the little chime that told me my search was done running. _Jackpot._ Mr. deSoto had a laundry list of dirty laundry that he wouldn't want aired out. Too bad. I hit print.

Several hours later, my butt had gone completely numb.

Part of my new RangeMan state of mind was that I was keeping a closer eye on everything than I had in the past. So I noticed right away when Lester, Hal, and Junior took their lunch at the same time. I was bored and hungry and had spent the last ten minutes staring blankly in the direction of the break room. So I guess that might have helped too.

A moment of hesitation and a little mental knuckle cracking later, I was convincing myself that this was the perfect opportunity to start getting to know the guys in a setting that didn't include strict vigilance for my personal safety or embarrassing revelations about my personal life. At least I hoped it wouldn't. Besides, I used to have lunch with the girls at E.E. Martin all the time. This couldn't be _that_ different.

I heard Lester's voice as I approached the break room. "… have somewhere better to be tonight."

"So who is it?" Junior asked. "Cheryl?"

I could easily imagine the smile on Lester's face as he answered, "Susanna."

"Nice," Hal added to the exchange.

"Oooh," was Junior's appreciative reaction. "I remember her. The one in that blue thing right?" I rounded the corner and stepped into the doorway just as I heard him voice the rest of his appreciation. "The one that made those sweet tits look…"

Whether he stopped speaking because he heard me come into the room behind him or he just knew that something was wrong by the frightened expression on Hal's face, I'd never know. Whatever the reason, it was three seconds too late. I knew it. Once he looked over his shoulder, he knew it. We all knew it. But I was the one who finally decided to end the strained silence. The real question was, _what do I say?_

"I'm sure her tits looked perfectly lovely," I told them and patted Junior on the shoulder in conciliation as I passed. _Mental cringe. _I just said '_tits._' No reason to disrupt the congenial atmosphere though, right? "Women actually go to a lot of trouble hoping people will notice."

To our credit, Hal was the only one in the room with pink cheeks. He was too sweet for his own good.

"You'll have fun," I assured Lester before turning away to scan the fridge for something edible and trying, as quickly as possible, to decide if I should press my luck today or just cut and run. _How does one make small talk with a Rangeman? It was like a bad riddle. _I turned back to them holding who knows what flavor of yogurt. I glanced down at the package in my hand._ Tapioca? Gross. Isn't that pudding? Does it have sugar? Stop! Focus Steph. You're in the middle of something here._ I smiled at them. "If she's worth the time, she'll back them up."

_Yikes, did I just say that?_ This time Junior couldn't look at me and Hal came very close to pulling a spit take. Lester, however, just smiled right back at me. "I hope so. They sure promise a lot."

_Yikes again!_ It wasn't really the welcome I'd expected to give or get when I'd decided to take my break with the guys, but at least we were speaking. That was Strategy Number One on my RangeMan agenda and I guess I was kind of on a roll. Lester had a dangerous look in his eye and Junior wouldn't look at me at all, but I knew that Hal was safe territory. "How was your time off?" I asked as I took a seat beside him.

Unfortunately, Lester wasn't to be ignored. "Forget him. I heard there's a new crew in town and they," he leaned forward on his elbows, "have set their sights on you."

"What crew?" I sat up and asked in a far more urgent tone than I'd intended. I was too busy being flooded by memories of abuse at the hands of the Slayers - and the sight of their bloodied and broken bodies all around me – to worry about the impression I was making.

Lester didn't seem to notice and continued merrily, "the word is they're a real serious group." He let his gaze make a circuit around the table before continuing, "they had a genuine _rumble_ downtown this week. The police report says that there were a total of three broken hips."

In an instant, all of my trepidation turned into ire. _For fuck's sake, this asshole was talking about Grandma Mazur's new friends!_

"So, how exactly does one become a Brigadier?" he asked. "They sound like a fun bunch."

For a moment I didn't know how to react. Was I the butt of his joke, just one of the guys, or both? Because, honestly, I didn't really want to be either. For the first time in a long time, I didn't want to be anyone or anything other than myself. "I don't know exactly," I told him. "First, you'll need to talk to my grandmother. She's real tight with them." I pulled my cell out and started scrolling through my contact list as I spoke. "She'll be glad to hear you're interested. I'll give her your number."

"NO," burst from Lester as his eyes widened and he raised a hand in protest. "That's alright," he added in a rush, "I need to give it more thought before I can commit to anything anyway."

"I'm gonna have nightmares about it," Cal added unhelpfully and shivered, comically. His introduction to my family had been less than ideal. He'd been watching our exchange from the doorway and was a little too pleased with it for my liking. Wasn't he supposed to be keeping guard or something?

"Big babies," I muttered loud enough to be overheard as I stood to leave. I wasn't sure what this was, but it wasn't lunch with the girls and I needed some space. There were too many large bodies in the room. From the changes in all of their expressions, they'd heard me loud and clear and thought they must have heard wrong. "If you think the whole thing is a scary idea," I clarified for them. "Try living it." I didn't even need to see the ensuing changes in their expressions to know that they'd rather not.

Tank passed me in the doorway as I was leaving. He was wearing a lot of sweaty clothes, an old towel slung over his neck, and - after Lester's "Man, where the hell have you been?" - a very stern frown that I, rather miraculously, wasn't curious about _at all_. I just wanted to make it back to my desk and struggle to swallow my tapioca in private.

Just as I made it back to my pile of waiting files, my cellular chirped and I could have kissed Connie for the interruption. "Steph, I've got a real winner for you; file just came in this morning."

I grabbed my purse and left behind the yogurt-esque disappointment and my mountain of unsearched files. "I'll be right there."

When I stepped through Vinnie's new tarp and duck tape front door the ashes and glass were gone. Connie had set up a space heater to fight the invading chill. I followed her lead and left on my coat, thinking that if I planned to spend much time there I really ought to get some gloves too. On the unburned portion of Lula's desk sat a bucket of fried chicken that was looking for some much needed attention and there was an empty folding chair in front of it that was begging to get up close and personal with my ass. I dropped my purse on the floor next to the chair before making a few dreams come true. It was like the office and crispy chicken skin had convinced my shoulders that the past several weeks hadn't happened and they finally felt they were home and could fully relax.

The office smelled like smoke, disaster, and a side order of country biscuits. I found I was growing a bit nostalgic for the scent of nail polish and hair spray. The sexy aroma in Ranger's shower aside, the RangeMan building smelled of deodorant, gun powder, and electronics. It was overly male on occasion and it wasn't always something I'd call pleasant. And now that I thought about it, despite Mary Lou's assistance with my nails it was about time I made another appointment with Mr. Alexander for some professional intervention.

"Where's Lula?" I asked Connie between licks of chicken-greasy fingers.

"She had a hair appointment." _Well, duh._ I should have expected that one. After her improvised cootie exorcism she needed it even more than I did. "These are just what I've got for you now," Connie said as she handed over a few paper napkins and a thick stack of files. "There were a few others that would normally go to you on my desk, but – " she turned and motioned to the room, "the fire ruined most of them. I'll get the paperwork redone as soon as I can."

"Get them done now!" Vinnie shouted from somewhere in the recesses of his dungeon-y office.

Connie's mood shifted at light speed. "You got some nerve even showing your face around here today! Shut your trap or I'm going to start making calls!" Vinnie's only answer was a slammed door and a thrown lock. Connie seemed satisfied with that. "You should have heard Harry this morning," she informed me with a smile.

"Is he actually in trouble this time?" Vinnie's father-in-law Harry didn't make idle threats. He was called the Hammer because when he set his sights on you, you got nailed. If he caught wind that this fire fiasco was set in motion by Vinnie's boasting about his extramarital exploits, Vinnie would have more than money problems to worry about.

"I don't think so. My pop just overreacted because some mook called him up yesterday and told him I'd been in the hospital. Pop called Jimmy. Jimmy called Harry." She flapped her hand in a so-on-and-so-on gesture. "But he put Vinnie on his toes and I'm going to keep him there as long as humanly possible."

_Great idea._ "So who's the skip I had to get today?" I asked as I flipped through the file folders. She'd handed me six. How many more could there be that still needed their paperwork refiled?

Lula chose that moment to sashay into the office, freshly coifed. She was in screaming orange with hair to match. If someone glanced quickly enough as they passed by, they'd think there was another fire. "'Bout time you showed up to do somethin' around here." She threw her things into her desk and shooed me out of her desk chair.

"You've been at the beauty parlor!" I tried to defend myself.

"I had an emergency," Lula said around a mouthful of fried chicken. "Lately you've just been slacking."

"Vinnie's has been closed, technically I didn't even work here anymore, and I've been at RangeMan all morning." I thought about all of the things I'd managed to do in the last three days while I finished chewing. It was pretty unbelievable. "I've been working my ass off."

"RangeMan?" Lula and Connie looked at each other before looking back to me. _Never a good sign._ "So you trying to tell us you back here and you still working hard for Batman?"

"Of course I am." If they only knew…

Lula eyed me and my Rangeman uniform over the top of her cup as she took a big gulp of her Coke. "And your job description still includes clothing?"

"Yes." _For now_. The last few nights I've been working hard on that one, but the wisdom of my efforts was yet to be determined.

"Cause I heard you and Super Cop ran off and got married," Lula shocked me with a matter-of-fact tone.

_Ha! Not bloody likely_. I had to put real effort into not having an ugly reaction to that statement. The thought of Joe still stung terribly and threatened all manner of dark spirals that I wouldn't want to experience in front of others.

Connie unwrapped a piece of gum and then held out the pack to Lula and I. "I heard he finally murdered you."

_Blink, blink_. "What is that supposed to mean; 'finally'?" I asked.

"Yep. Margie told me that you went over there and he was screaming and breaking things. Then you came out running and he chased you all the way down the street to Lubeck Park. After that you disappeared and no one had heard from you since. She thinks you're fertilizing Rose Morelli's heirloom tomatoes right now and by next week you'll be under the foundation of Joe's new garage. Of course I told her she was wrong, but you're gonna want to steer clear of the Mancuso's. They've all got their fur up about something."

"I gotta pretty good guess what it might be." Lula was looking impressed with herself. "Since you ain't on yo honeymoon or stinkin' up Morelli's basement, there must be some other reason no one's seen him 'round lately. I'd bet a bill that it's related to the get-up you're wearing and that fancy new holster peaking out of it."

I pulled my jacket closed. "Joe's always hated my job. He'll get over it."

Connie put her elbow on her desk and her chin in her crimson tipped hand. "Get over what exactly?"

"Yeah, how 'bout it;" Lula chimed in, "we need a few details 'cause everybody is talkin' all kinds of crazy shit 'bout you these days."

It was time to skedaddle. They were a formidable pair once they started tag-teaming. I grabbed my files, and then after a pause snatched up the RangeMan files too. I was an employee, and if I could move around Haywood opening doors like Darth Vader, then I could sign for these. "You coming for a ride?" I asked Lula. "I've got a whole stack here."

Connie pointed at my hand. "Ranger isn't going to like it if you take those high bonds."

"I'm just bringing them to Tank." I assured her as I pushed my way through the tarp and tape mess with my hip.

"Tank? Are we gonna see him?" Lula was already halfway to the door, purse and gun in hand.

_Hell no, we weren't going to see Tank_. I was not bringing Lula back to RangeMan with me. "Maybe," I hinted ambiguously, "and no shooting. Put the gun away."

"Then why do you get to have one," she pouted.

"Because Ranger and Tank say so," I said. "I _have_ to have one and I'm _not_ going to use it." At least I hope not.

"Hrmph." She slammed the SUV's door and dropped her glock back in her bag. "Fine. So who we after today?" She looked excited to be back in the saddle with me, and it was a little contagious.

We went through my skips' folders and I immediately found which ones we'd be after first and which ones would have to wait. Danny Bleuder; 46, arrested for grand theft auto and the possession and sale of stolen goods. He was going to have to wait. He had a long list of petty crimes and misdameaners, but never anything too serious because he wasn't stupid. He'd been boosting cars for local chop shops since he was fourteen. It was a family trade and it wasn't a secret, which meant he'd been operating beneath the authorities' radar for a few decades. He wasn't going to be easy.

Now on the other hand, Piranha Clemmins would be a great place to start. I'd had to pick her up once before. She was 4'10," weighed about 260 lbs., had a head of hair like little orphan Annie, and was constantly getting arrested for disturbing the peace and unlawful assembly. She was a diligent protester and drove most of the people she knew crazy. But she wasn't violent and it was guaranteed she wouldn't be armed. Plus, she and Lula had developed some sort of grudging commradery in a kind of 'stand up to the man' way that never really rocked my boat. Generally, and if you don't count Morelli, 'the man' had always left me well enough alone.

The only problem was that she always went 'protester boneless' when anyone tried to take her in. That meant that I had to try to _literally_ pick her up, and it was at least a two man job. So fifteen minutes later, Lula and I were trying to push and pull her across a large, worn lot where she'd built a community garden and that ridiculous yurt she lived in. What kind of screwball would want to spend a Trenton winter in a semi-permanent hut? Oh, and did I mention that she whines continuously? "Oww! My arms. Are you trying to pull them off?"

Lula gave her a harsh shove with her DayGlo boot. "Then get off yo fat ass and walk yourself. Or just shut up and deal with it. You think we like rollin' yo ass down the street?" Lula gave her another kick and Piranha shot her arm out to trip her. Lula tottered for a second before regaining her balance by pushing me over instead. I went down face first and bounced my forehead off an old, dirty planter made from recycled tires and who knows what other old, dirty things. "Dammit!"

Lula was fishing around in her purse. "That's enough of this. It's too cold for this shit."

"No! No shooting."

"Then I'll zap her lard ass."

"No, not that either!" I shouted too late. Piranha let out a squeal and keeled over. "Lula, now she's going be even heavier," I complained.

"At least she's quiet now."

It took us twenty minutes to get her all the way to the Explorer, dragging her through every bit of compost and fertilizer we could manage. Then we spent another twenty minutes struggling to get her into it. We were both still huffing and puffing when we got to the station. But we were clean, only slightly injured, and climbing into an intact vehicle. That was a good enough start. Hey, I have to take what I can get. Especially considering what I was going to try to pull off on the next one.

The Eigel's were some of Vinnie's most loyal repeat customers. Jerry's latest bit of inspiration had been some sort of mail scheme that I'm sure wasn't worth the effort of trying to understand. I knew several of the Eigel's. If Jerry was anything like his brothers, then he didn't make much money doing it and he'd left enough evidence lying around that he'd eventually get slapped with some Federal charges for this one. And once that happened, several of his associates were likely to get real nervous about how well they can trust Jerry not to flip. That made him more than a simple FTA in my book. Jerry had been upgraded to 'flight risk.' Or even worse, the Feds would pick him up on something first and I'd be out a paycheck. So, Jerry Eigel became a priority.

His vitals said that he worked as a dish washer in the kitchen of a snooty restaurant in a part of town that I didn't normally patron. I can't afford it. The Founders' Club was a highly reviewed steakhouse where corporate Ranger would fit in perfectly. Needless to say, Lula and I were going to be parking around back. I parked on the far side of the employee lot where we could see the service entrances. There were two women lounging against the building, smoking long thin cigarettes and huddled together against the way the wind swept across the parking lot.

"Stay here," I commanded.

Lula already had one foot out of the SUV. "No way, girl. You ain't leaving me in the car."

I grabbed her arm to stop her. "I'll be right back. I just want to ask them if he's inside. Then I swear I'm coming right back."

"Hurmph," Lula crossed her arms and was rapidly tapping her foot against the side of the console. "I'll give you two minutes, then I'm coming after your ass."

"Deal." I scanned the lot as I stepped out of the SUV and mentally patted myself on the back. Only one occupied car, not running, with clearly an elderly man, probably some kind of manager or the maitre de; no threat detected. The two women had on winter jackets over chefs' coats. They didn't notice me at first and I wondered if I should give myself another pat for managing to be inconspicuous.

When the blonde on the left looked up from snubbing out her butt on the curb, she glanced in my direction. She gave my uniform the once over and let out a soft laugh. "What are you supposed to be?"

I reached for my card. "I'm looking for Jerry Eigel. Is he inside?"

The second woman took my card and read it. "I know you. You're that bounty hunter that starts fires."

_Sigh._ I tried to pull a blank face on her. "Do you know when he'll be coming out these doors next?"

The first woman snatched the card away from her friend. "They're not going to let you in there. Especially looking like that."

"I don't need to go inside," I told them trying to sound more patient than I really am. "I just need to know when he's coming outside."

"Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour. We take our breaks in shifts, but it ain't too busy right now."

I looked around the lot, an idea forming. "Do you know which one of these is his car?" They both pointed to a green pick-up not far from where I'd parked the Explorer. "Thanks. And don't tell him I'm out here." I returned to Lula and ran down my plan with her.

"So you're asking me to get his attention?" asked me to clarify.

I nodded. "And to keep it." Then I thought it would be safest to add, "and don't shoot him."

"Girl, I used to be a professional attention getter and I didn't need no gun for that."

"Well, let's hope you haven't lost your touch."

"Oh, I've still got it, but it's all recreational now."

We exited the SUV and headed over to the truck. Lula walked up to it and I took up my position across the aisle and a few cars down. Then she gave it a hard shove with her hip and the alarm blared out. The wind carried the sound and slammed it against the rear of the building, producing an impressive echo that headed back in our direction.

Several people began to file out of the back of the restaurant, checking to see if it was their car being stolen. I spotted Eigel and ducked down. He came hurrying towards us, digging his keys out of his pocket. When he spied Lula leaning against his truck he started jogging. "Yo, lady, get off my truck!"

As he passed me, I gave Lula the signal and moved to follow him. She saw me over Eigel's shoulder and turned to walk away. _What the hell?_

Then she stumbled dramatically and let out a shriek. That was enough to get everyone's attention. But, oh no, she didn't stop there. She was just getting started. Lula continued, dropping her purse, bending over, and giving us all a free peek at the dark side of the moon. That is when I looked away. Thankfully, Lula managed to keep Jerry's attention long enough for me to come up behind him, zap him and get the cuffs on him. _Go us! _That went down smooth as glass.

Jerry was lying face down on the cold pavement and Lula's purse's contents were scattered between here and the next county. I was taken aback by the myriad of debree that flew out of that thing, and _my_ purse is basically a piece of luggage. There was a can of Coke, pantyhose, pepper spray, three Tasty Cakes, a curling iron, a gun, an umbrella, half a dozen bottles of nail polish, a magazine, a giant, purple bra, handcuffs, a flashlight, two romance novels, and a shoe horn. To passers-by it must have looked like we were attacking the customers at the strangest rummage sale in Trenton history.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" One of the kitchen workers came running over and grabbed Lula. _See, that's the problem with glass. Anyone can just walk over and smash it to kingdom come._

"Bond enforcement agents!" I shouted, but could barely be heard over the car alarm that was still shrieking beside me.

Without her purse for protection, Lula swung her fist at him. He almost moved fast enough, but she clipped him on the jaw and the two of them went down in a heap of cursing and slapping. I ran to help her, but somehow Lula had managed to get one of his shoes off and I arrived on the scene just as she was preparing to clock him with it and I caught it in the face instead. I staggered back holding my right eye and only distantly listening to the grunts, shouts, and clunks of loafer meeting skull. Lula's cuffs were nearby, and I made a grab for them. I was trying to wrestle them onto Jerry's would be savior when something small and angry collided with my back. A tiny, furious, Latin, cyclone with long nails and a foul mouth pulled at my hair and clothing. More of a gnat than a wasp, she was easy enough to thwart and cuff, but not to silence. For that I needed the tazer. Without another set of cuffs, I moved in to taze Lula's foe, but was once again intercepted by another Founders' employee. _Jesus. It was one hell of a violent, tight knit staff they have at Founders'._ This guy looked like he was maybe sixteen and his time in a professional kitchen had done a number on his complexion. He was my height but I had about twenty pounds on him.

"Bond enforcement agents!" I shouted again, but he either didn't hear or didn't care. He drew his arm back to punch me and I threw my hands up to cover my face. He was way off the mark, and the only thing my defensive move had done was line my arm up perfectly for his crooked swing to connect sharply with my funny bone. _Holy hell, that hurts_! We were both jumping around shaking out our arms and shouting. My pock-marked pugilist tripped on Lula's bra and went down with no effort from me. Now fairly paranoid that I was going to be jumped again, I scanned the lot for any more threats. That's when I saw another line cook appear; this time with a knife.

My internal alarm bell went off and it sounded like a gun… because it was a gun. I fired twice over my head and the entire circus froze mid punch, kick, and bite. I snatched up Jerry's keys and finally silenced his alarm.

"Bond! Enforcement! Agents!" I screamed between heavy breaths. "We are legally authorized to apprehend and detain Jerry Eigel! The rest of you freaks need to calm down and stop hitting me!"

"I'm calling the cops," groaned the man still underneath Lula. He was looking worse for the wear with two black eyes and a bloody nose.

"Good ahead and call them," I challenged. "We'll have you all arrested for assault, interfering with a lawful apprehension, and aiding a fugitive. _You dumbass!_" In all candor, I have no idea if that was possible, but it sounded good at the time.

"You hear that you stupid fucker," Lula hit him with his shoe one last time for good measure before climbing off him. "You ain't shit." When she stood up I saw what had become of Lula's new hair and was worried that if she caught sight of her reflection somehow, she might actually kill the guy.

Lula began collecting her things while I uncuffed and/or revived our interlopers and watched to make sure they were all dragged or limped their way back inside the restaurant. Then we hauled Eigel to the SUV. He smelled like mop water and cigarettes, farted when we hefted him into his seat, and was drooling all the way to the station. Then he came to just in time to explain in detail how painful I'd find our next meeting. I wasn't intimidated, as long as he didn't bring along his coworkers. Then he threw up on my foot. An hour later I had cash in my wallet and was pulling back into the underground garage with a vehicle that was, aside from one floor mat, still in one _clean_ piece. The same couldn't be said for me. I'd really earned that paycheck.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Junior was slipping two more search requests into Stephanie's box when she walked onto the floor. "Where can I get an ice pack around here?" She tossed her bag on her desk.

He turned to her and if not for his training, he would have flinched away. She looked like she'd been through quite a bit since he'd last seen her, like an amateur boxing match or a tumble dryer. "I'll get one for you."

"No," Stephanie quickly refused. "Show me where."

He led her to a set of double doors directly across from the gym. The room beyond was like a school nurse's office on steroids, minus the posters about flu shots and the importance of washing your hands after you go potty. He showed her exactly where the different ice packs and refrigerated medications were stored.

Stephanie breathed a soft, "thank you," as she pressed the ice pack to her eye. Then she lifted her hair and placed the pack on the back of her neck with a small, involuntary inward breath. Junior felt the sudden need to avert his eyes. "My neck stings," she explained as she lifted the ice from her neck. "Do I have scratches? Because the crazy woman that jumped on me had the sharpest nails…"

Junior had no choice but to look back. He was surprised at the red slashes cutting across the ivory skin of Stephanie's neck. "Oooh, yeah, there are a few."

She sighed a tired sigh and her shoulders slumped a bit lower. "Is there a mirror in here?"

Junior pointed to the small 10" mirror on the far wall. She contorted into shapes and positions that shouldn't be humanly possible, but still she couldn't see them. With a frustrated huff she spun around and pulled down the back collar of her shirt. "How bad do they look? Like nasty scab bad? Or infection bad? Or…" She took a fortifying breath. "Scars bad?"

Junior was getting more nervous by the second. "I doubt they'll scar, but you'll need to have those looked at to make sure they don't get infected."

"Well, you're looking at them right now. Isn't there something around here to put on them?"

He held back a wince as he answered, "yes." Junior reached for one of the cabinets and pulled out a small, medicinal-looking tube. "Here."

Stephanie grabbed it to read the label and see what it was he was recommending. "I can't do it," she declared as she tried to hand the tube back to him. "I can't see."

Junior couldn't suppress the wince this time. "Uh…"

Stephanie rolled her eyes. "I don't bite, especially if you're behind me." She was too tired to be nervous about anything at the moment. She just wanted this over and done with so she could go sit down at her desk. She grabbed two long handled swabs from a jar on the counter. Junior watched in semi-amazement as she used a finger to swirl her mounds of curls on top of her head and then inserted the two swabs. Then – _Ta-Da!_ – her hair defied gravity. Stephanie held the tube out to Junior over her shoulder and tugged the back of her shirt down even farther. "Come on now, or I'll have to go look for someone else to help me."

After washing his hands and a long, deep, calming breath, Junior opened the tube and had the salve on his finger. He hesitated and warned her, "This is going to sting."

He swept his finger across the first scratch and he heard her hiss in pain. He quickly pulled his hand away and Stephanie groaned through clenched teeth. "Fuck, don't stop. Just do it."

Junior needed another very deep, very calming breath after that. He needed several. "Sorry." He finished administering the salve as soon as his hand stopped shaking. It took longer than he'd thought and her breathing was unsteady by the end of it. But she didn't mutter another curse or let out another sound. She was a lot tougher than he'd anticipated.

When he looked back on that moment in the future, he would never be able to adequately explain to anyone, including himself, what he did next. He blew softly on the back of her neck. In his own mind, he'd tell himself that the salve needed to dry as soon as possible. He would never stop trying to reassure himself that somewhere in the back of his mind he was concerned about her rubbing off the salve before it could dry. But in reality, it was more like a 'I'm her shining knight' brain fart.

Stephanie had to suppress a shiver when she felt his warm breath flow over her bare, raw skin. It took her just as long to realize what exactly was happening as it took Junior. She, however, wasn't nearly as confused by it as he was. "Do you blow on all the men's necks when they're injured?"

"No." His answer was just fast enough to make her question its honesty. _Had Junior once made the mistake of blowing on Tank's neck? Or Ranger's?_ Okay, that was enough. She'd have a seriously embarrassing reaction if she kept imagining things like that.

Junior looked like he wanted to add something to his denial before leaving. But all he did was turn and walk out the door at a very stiff angle and a high rate of speed. Stephanie held her ice pack to her face and wondered about the strength of men. It certainly was a pervasive myth.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


	12. Chapter 12

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux - Chapter 12**

I ate my meal in silence, glancing around me at the almost austere room, wondering if this was what Ranger felt like when he was alone in my apartment. It was a new experience for me, being there for a simple meal rather than sequesteration. I have to say, I didn't hate it. Whatever it was I was eating made for great leftovers. I smiled when I thought that Ella might have left them in Ranger's fridge just for me. The same way that half of the food in my fridge was there for Ranger. _Hell, since he bought healthy junk, he'd eat it_. I looked down at the file on the table. When Connie gave it to me, my first thought was of Ranger. As soon as I had ice on my eye, I'd headed in his direction. I couldn't wait any longer to show it to him. I had the feeling he was going to like this one.

The control room had been its usually quiet sanctuary. Without Lester, Cal was the man to see. "Is he in?" I nodded in the direction of Ranger's office, expecting to get the return nod and the go ahead to continue on my way.

"No," he answered. "Boss is out of town." I don't know how else to describe the change in Cal's posture except to say that he became a very sweet and sincere walking apology. "He left a few hours ago."

"Oh, right. I forgot." I knew I was doing that telltale thing where I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, clearly communicating to everyone that I did _not_ already know whatever it was I was being told. At least I wasn't shaking a finger. That would have been embarrassing. But I couldn't seem to stop myself either. "Miami?" I said, expecting confirmation.

Cal hesitated with a quizzical frown. "Boston."

_Shit._ He obviously thought that I should have already known that. _Should I have? _As I thought back to that moment I hoped that he didn't feel as sorry for me as I started to feel for myself.

I dropped my fork to my plate and let my head fall back in frustration. Why had I even come up here? Of course he wasn't here. If the past few days were any indication, then Ranger wouldn't be anywhere near here. If he was anywhere in Trenton other than his office, it'd be my apartment. _That_ I should have known. I didn't know why, but I was going to find out. As soon as he got back from… apparently Boston.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank glanced up at the monitor. Stephanie took a break for dinner, but then returned to her desk instead of going home. She'd been playing with her icepack for a while, and if the image in front of him was to be believed, she was upset with it for some reason. Ric wasn't going to be happy about it either. He was going to hate that black eye.

So far, Stephanie hadn't come to him with a resounding 'yes' to his job offer, but she had stepped out of her normal routine and tried to acclimate. And Santos hadn't scared her off immediately. That was a good sign.

But Ric was gone. That was not good. And Tank was tired. He was sleep deprived, as usual, but he was also tired of Ric's nonsense. This shit with Stephanie couldn't go on much longer. Stephanie seemed to be grasping that fact much quicker than he was. He'd already given Ric a kick in the ass. If he needed more than that, Tank wasn't sure what more he could do.

Stephanie, however, was just slightly easier to handle. He picked up his phone. "Who's on call now?"

"Ram and Woody."

"Tell Ram to suit up." _Perfect._ She wouldn't even know this was a test while she was taking it.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Search. Print. Search. Print. Search. Print. This was a seriously thankless job. No wonder Silvio transferred. At least Miami had a nicer climate. I was too worked up to sit still any longer and I needed somewhere to vent. My day had been too long and my night was looking too lonely. But it was after dark and, even if it was ten years ago, Alton Watanabe did have a previous weapons charge. If I wanted to go after him, I should take someone with me.

I'd been at my desk long enough that the night shift had come on duty. I looked around the room and realized that I barely knew any of these men. Slick, Hector, Manny; what's a girl to do when the person she's known the longest doesn't speak English? Luckily, Ram came through the doors just in time to save me from doing something foolish.

"Ram!" I didn't mean to startle him, but I guess I don't shout at him that often and he wasn't expecting it. Neither were Slick, Hector, or Manny. "Sorry." He made his way over to my desk and we both smiled. "Want to take me for a ride tonight?"

Ram's smiled disappeared. "Wha?"

"I've got an itch and Watanabe is asking to be scratched," I offered him my skip's folder, "but I'll need some back-up. You down?"

Ram's smile reappeared. "Anytime, Bombshell." It was the first time anyone other than Lester had ever called me Bombshell to my face. I wanted to hate it. But I didn't. Something about Ram's voice made it okay. "Let's roll."

Once we were alone in the car, my courage left me entirely. "So, as far as I know, I've never met this guy before. Right now, he's in it for," I glanced at his folder open in my lap, "arson. He's had a weapons charge before and a few assault charges, but they were all against the Chef-ess. Now the Chef-ess is this old woman who lives in the building next door to him and I guarantee that if I lived next door to her I'd have more than several assault charges. We used to call her that because she always had this evil wooden spoon in her hand that she'd use to hit children. It was awful. If you got hit with that thing you'd have a mark that would sting for days. She was a maniac with it. Not to mention the fact that we all thought she'd bake us alive if we got too close to her house. She was the only person in Chambersburg that never got a single trick'or'treater. Her very existence almost ruined my favorite holiday. One year she just sat on her porch and stared at us all as we went by, like she was daring us to have fun in front of her. By the time we were in high school Eddie and I were so ticked off we were going to egg the back of her house while she sat in that stupid rocker out front. But then Mrs. Rodale saw us and we chickened out at the last second. Oh, and my poor sisiter! When Valerie was ten she let go of this bunch of balloons, and she wasn't paying attention when she ran after them into the Chef-ess' yard. She strayed into that gargoyle's tulip track and nearly lost her head. You wouldn't think that a wooden spoon could do that kind of damage, but let me tell you, once Grandma Mazur caught wind of it, it was like an old school, family blood feud. No matter what that woman did with her wooden spoon, my Gram had a ladle and it was metal. Have you ever seen two old women fence with utensils? It's a unique experience. I'm talking a lot. Does it sound like I'm talking a lot? 'Cause it really, really _feels_ like I'm talking a lot." I literally had to put my hand over my mouth to make it stop moving.

"Why are you so nervous?" Ram pulled to a stop and quickly reread the file before handing it back. "This guy isn't even that dangerous."

"You don't understand."

"You're right," he said as he got out of the SUV.

"I didn't realize I was asking you to come with me for an arson guy. But we could just scrap this and go back," I offered him an escape.

"Stephanie…" he was still smiling.

I shook my head, trying for some sort of discouragement. "Things around me start on fire."

"Not around me they don't," he said and headed for Watanabe's door. He was so confident.

I crossed my fingers and followed him. "But why push our luck? I already almost killed you once this week, and I've sort of made this personal decision not to do that as much anymore," I told him as we stepped onto the porch. "Are you sure you don't want to hand this over to one of the other guys?"

"Positive." And he rang the bell.

Alton was as impressed with Ram as anyone would be. If you don't spend much of your time with the Rangemen, then finding a 6-foot, heavily muscled, even more heavily armed, Samoan, on your doorstep, after dark, would be a fairly impressive experience. Alton looked like he might wet his pants, and here I was, worried that I was going to kill the guy.

"Alton Watanabe, I'm Stephanie Plum," that was as far as I got. Then he booked it. I took off in the same direction without a second thought and heard some sort of shout from behind me. It might have been my name. I don't know; I wasn't paying close attention. I was busy with something else. Then I tripped on the rug. The ugliest damn rug I'd ever seen. _Why didn't he burn that when he was starting his fires?_

Ram was right next to me, helping me up. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." I pointed out the back of the room. "Get him!"

Ram had the balls to laugh at me. _Yeah, that's right. Laugh_. "It's your job to catch him." He helped me to my feet and even casually brushed some dust off of my shoulder. "My job is to make sure you're still in one piece when you're through."

I pushed him away. "Yeah, well there's nothing in my job description that prohibits breaking you. Think about it." Then I was off again. Alton's lonely, sociopathic, middle-aged ass was going down. I made it to the back door just in time to see Alton light the rag. Then, crash, splash, whoosh, the Chef-ess' gazebo was a Molotov barbeque. Ram was standing next to me.

"See," I said. "I told you so. Here you are and that's still a fire."

Ram chuckled, "Let's hope her spoon was in there."

Alton was too enamored with his latest blaze to keep running. I pulled out my cuffs and had him restrained and in the SUV before the wicked witch of the 'Burg could beat him bloody. From the sound of the screaming that had just erupted in her backyard, she wasn't a happy camper.

"What were you thinking, Alton?" I asked as I dragged him away from the scene of his crime. Ram was on his cell with the fire department, and it took everything in me to keep from shaking the shit out of the idiot I was holding. "That old hag has been terrorizing the neighborhood for generations. This is going to make her even worse."

"You were here to arrest me for setting fires. Figured as long as I'm going down," he shrugged, "I might as well get another one in."

"You moron!," I shouted. "I'm not arresting you! Do we look like cops?" Ram was putting on a valiant display of not laughing. "I'm just taking you in to get rebonded. Then your sorry ass is headed back home until Old Mother Horrible files charges against you for tonight."

Alton's eyes bulged. "What?"

"Didn't you read the paperwork when you were arrested? Alton, you should never sign anything you don't fully understand." _Seriously? _Now _I_ was dispensing legal advice? What was the world coming to? I threw my hands up. "You've already been arrested and then you were bonded. Then you missed your court date. So now we're legally allowed to kick your ass and drag you back to the station. Come on, man, you've been through this before."

Alton's eyes grew even wider. "When was I scheduled for court?"

"What do I look like, your mother? Keep your own damn appointments."

"I can see from here that you have my paperwork."

"Then read it yourself." I threw the papers at him in my fit of pique. "Hell," I waved my hand over my shoulder, "once you're at the station you're not my problem anymore."

"You bitch!"

Ram had finally had enough of Watanabe. I could tell by the way his fist collided with his face and my involuntary gasp. Alton was now very quietly behaving himself and lightly bleeding onto the backseat. I couldn't catch Ram's eye and was wondering if maybe he hadn't meant to make such display in front of me.

"Pain builds character," he said stiffly. (1)

"Well, he could certainly use it. Let's hope it smartens him up a little too." If Ram was embarrassed, then I wasn't going to dwell on it. I'm embarrassed often enough to know that it's best to just get over it and move on. "You know, if you hit everyone who calls me names, you're going to have some very sore knuckles." I pulled out my next folder. "Especially if we pick up Kudrow on our way past the station. He's old, and you really shouldn't hit old men. It makes for bad karma and we've already established that you've had some sketchy past lives."

The tips of Ram's lips rose and he glanced down at my paperwork as he flipped on the turn signal. "So give me the lowdown on the next guy."

"Tobias Kudrow. He's a local homeless man that stays out there near the penny fountain. He's somewhere between 80 and 130 years old. He has an ongoing turf war with Eula. They keep to their own benches, but the rights to the looting of commuter trash bins are always shifting and occasionally the authorities have to intervene. He's a regular at Vinnie's. Usually he's cooperative and just comes along peacefully. Unless he's high or drunk. He can get pretty messed up when the weather's cold, and with the temperature dropping, a warm meal and a sober night in a cell will probably do him some good."

We had barely come to a full stop when the brick hit the SUV. Tobias was in fine form. He wasn't just high, he was flying. "You want a kiss to go with that confetti?" He raised his curled hands in an old-fashioned challenge to fisticuffs. "I got plenty to spare."

"I'll get him," I told Ram as I reached for the door handle. He looked like he wanted to stop me, but I reassured him. "Relax, he's out of ammo and someone needs to stay here and watch the Human Torch."

I made my way over to where he was staggering around. "For the last time, Tobias, I'm not Irish." I don't know who shoved the shamrock up this guy's ass, but he had a real twist in his gut about the Emerald folk and I could never convince him that I wasn't one of them.

"I know an Irish lass when I see one."

"And how is that?" I asked as I made a grab for his arm. I missed and he celebrated.

"They look like they were made to have babies."

"What?" That was more than enough out of Tobias. That old man was getting pepper sprayed. And I hit him right in the face.

Tobias ran screaming for the fountain and threw his upper body over its stone edges, dunking his entire head into the icy water with a giant splash and scaring the daylights out of several dozen pigeons and four twenty-somethings in business casual. I ran after him, but couldn't reach him before he bucked backward in a shower of water. He let out a roar, holding the sides of his head, no doubt from the pain of his now Guinness record-breaking head freeze. In all of his layers of dirty clothing, and a beard that would put Grizzly Adams to shame, he looked like a Viking charging into battle. If I hadn't already known that underneath was a skinny old man, I would have ruined my second pair of pants that week.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank rolled his eyes when he saw the number on his caller I.D. Sometimes this guy was unbelievable. "Yo," he answered with a mocking yet unamused force.

"Sit-rep," came the equally terse reply.

Tank knew why Ranger was calling even if he wasn't saying it. "She's out chasing skips. I sent Ram with her. Everything else is fine, but fucking busy." There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "I did just say that I'm busy. Are you calling for a reason?" The line went dead. _Thought so_.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"Thank you," I said. Ram looked over at me and gave his head a shake. We were in the RangeMan garage and I was trying to give him his half of the money from the skips we'd just picked-up. He got out of the SUV without a word. Okay, so they're strong, trained, deadly, silent (for the most part), and now I could add chivalrous to the tally. _And I was supposed to be one of them how again?_

We stood next to the Explorer and did a final survey of the damage. According to my standards, it wasn't so bad. Tank walked into the garage, clearly trying to suppress a grin. "Looks like you had a productive evening." _Oh, be still my heart; these Rangemen were all so clever…_

"Pulled in some harmless crazies," I shrugged and tried to feel as casual as I sounded. "It's a paycheck."

"Harmless?" Tank asked and looked pointedly from my black eye to the Explorer's side panel.

I shrugged again. "They weren't aiming at me."

"Anything else to report?" Tank demanded more than asked with sudden authority.

I worried my lip and hesitated long enough that Tank's patience had him crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. He already knew there was more. "Well, you might have gotten a call earlier about how I kind of started this fire…"

"Now, now, Bombshell," Ram interrupted me, "that is just a blatant falsehood."

"What?"

"You apprehended an arsonist while he was in the process of committing a crime. We witnessed it, called the authorities, and hauled his ass in. Just because we were there doesn't mean it was our fault."

"Bingo." Tank's voice boomed throughout the garage as he made his way over to us. He was really good at the tall and forceful stuff when he tried. "Did you get that Plum?"

"Yeppers." _Gulp._ "Got it."

Tank dismissed Ram with a tick of his head and pulled out his cell. "I'm going out," he barked into it and disconnected before turning back to me. "You've had a long day." He opened the Explorer's door for me and my hands went straight to my hips.

"I can get home on my own, thank you very much."

"It's late. We're both tired. He's out of town and I'm responsible for your safety. Don't argue with me, Steph."

I didn't really have an answer to that. Don't get me wrong I wanted to. I wanted to give him what's for, as an independent woman. But he did look really tired and mostly I just wanted to go home. "Fine."

"Thank _you_ very much," he added unnecessarily as he closed my door. Tank was kind of a smartass. Not that I'd tell _him_ that or anything.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Ranger tossed his cell on his desktop. Like he wanted to be in Boston right now? He wanted to be in Trenton with Stephanie. He wanted to hear her voice. But the phone sat there, silently. He looked up at the sharp knock on the office door and sat a bit higher in his chair. He wasn't big on getting caught daydreaming. "Enter."

T.J. stepped in the door with another armful of papers and whatnot. "Bruce finished those expense reports," he said, setting down the first portion of his load. T.J. was a good man. He was young and ignorant, but a local who knew the streets and was willing to work late and pay his dues. "Hoffman called to confirm his three o'clock. The Bender takedown went off without any problems. Pits sent three more new client files to Trenton for background searches. These need signatures," he finally laid down the last of his folders and Ranger spied what else he'd brought. "And Dixie sent this down for you. She said there's more upstairs if you want it later." Dixie was no Ella, but she made a damn good Sheppard's Pie. Ranger nodded his acceptance and watched T.J. leave.

_Maybe I'll call Steph_, he thought. _Just to check in. She might like that. Morelli does it_.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

When we reached my apartment, I opened the door and made a move to step to the side for Tank. You know, to let the man sweep for psychos and then leave. Standard procedure. But there was something rather conspicuous on the floor at our feet that gave me pause. A large manila envelope. "Do you see that?" I asked stupidly.

"Yeah."

"You don't suppose it's good news do you?"

"No," he sounded reluctant, "probably not."

"Would you mind grabbin' that for me?" I asked as I put some much needed distance between whatever it was and myself. "I need to get some air for a minute." I stepped back out into the hall and paced down to the end of the corridor before coming back and bending at the waist, hands on my knees. "Please tell me it has nothing to do with the Stiva's."

I heard the rustle of the envelope as he tore it open. "It's not about the Stiva's." Then there was way more hesitation in his words than there should have been. "I don't know what this is."

I grabbed it and looked, one swift motion, like taking off a band-aid. _Oh, god_. I didn't know what it was either, but I was glad that Tank was there to help keep me upright.

It was a photo; the regular, old, amateur, kind, blown up to 8x10" size. It was a shot that I'd never seen before, but I recognized where it'd been taken. It was Joe and me, standing on the sidewalk outside the Ronata's house. I remembered walking with him to his cousins for the picnic block party. He'd wanted to marry me less than a month later. We were smiling, in an obviously intimate exchange. But in this photo Joe's face had been nearly scratched away completely. The scratches looked violent and almost went straight through the paper.

"There's more." Tank took my hand in his and turned it. When I saw the back of the photo, I gasped and dropped it. I flung it away, as far as I could in that narrow hall. That was the creepiest thing I'd ever seen. It was a tiny palm print in robin's egg blue. I made another trip down the hall to catch my breath, but it didn't help. "Was that a baby's hand print?"

Tank cringed slightly. "I think so."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I don't know."

"Is it like a threat or something?"

"I don't know."

"What should we do? Should I call the police?" I let out long breath. "I don't want to call the police."

Tank gave the photo another once over and answered, "No. That can wait. We'll look into this first."

I paced around some more, shaking out my hands like maybe I could get the ickyness off. But it just wasn't going away. "Crap. Crap. Crap."

"Plum!" Tank was slipping the photo back into its envelope. "Get a hold of yourself." He had this weird expression on his face, like he was talking more to himself than he was to me. "This isn't a first for you. We'll take this in and add it to your file. We'll grab the hamster and you'll spend the night at RangeMan." He stuck a thick finger out at me. "Don't argue." He was already headed in Rex's direction. "I'll post a man in your lot tonight in case this guy is still around, and tomorrow we'll beef up security here and hopefully have a little more information about all of this. Right now, we should focus on spending as little time in your apartment as possible and disturbing as little as possible while we're here."

"Okay."

"Start packing." Work-face Tank still kind of made me nervous.

"Okay," I repeated.

As I found out quickly thereafter, a night alone in Ranger's apartment was just as bad, if not worse, than missing Ranger in my own bed. I couldn't sleep. I was in the penthouse's office, using Ranger's computer to run my searches. I'd zoned out about an hour into the work, running search after search on autopilot.

I flipped through the folders one more time, stopping at one near the bottom of the pile. The file was way too thin. I assumed I must have skipped it. Tough to believe considering the guy's name was Casper Truth. I would have paid attention to that file. I ran it again and nearly did a double take at the reports as they each popped up on the screen. _Nothing._ There was nothing on this guy. I ran them all again, thinking that it must be a mistake. Again, nothing. _What the hell? RangeMan has access to almost everything._ Thankfully, I'd spent the morning learning more about how to use all of the RangeMan systems. I pulled up the file's search history. According to the logs, people have been running regular searches on Casper for several months. And each time, no reports submitted. I looked back and forth between the scant papers and the screen. It wasn't just that he didn't have a criminal record. I couldn't find any official evidence that he'd _ever_ existed. I reasoned that maybe his information wasn't correct and started checking for information under every spelling variation of his name that I could think of, including Kaasparr Troothe and all possible forms of umlaut usage.

Literally hours later, I was frustrated and developing a potentially dangerous craving for butter cream frosting. Casper was a damn ghost. There were a few photocopied notes from some cop in NY from about four years ago, but other than that the file was a giant goose egg. The notes were barely legible. From what I could make out, there was a petty theft and the officer on duty jotted down a witness's information and then added a note that the witness himself was a person of interest. I searched for the case. _Nada_. So, all I had was a four-year-aged mention of a name that people would remember, only Truth's second-hand word that he was from Trenton, and a vague physical description from a rookie beat cop. Apparently, Casper was between 5'9" and 6'2", was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt, and had dark hair. _Very helpful, Kojak_. The only useful information I had on him at all was that he had a scar over his left eye.

But there _was_ one thing I noticed. One of the other two witnesses/POIs, was Kenny Stokes. I knew a few Stokes'. They owned three or four bars around town and had a lot of dubious side pursuits all over the East coast. They weren't mob, but Kenny's dad, Vic, was a local fixture in Trenton. And his sister, Heidi, hated Kenny. She was big into the legit side of things. At least she liked people to think that she was. There wasn't any proof that it was the same Kenny Stokes or that the fact that both men had been there wasn't just a coincidence, but if Kenny knew anything about Casper, or if he'd ever brought him to one of the bars, Heidi might be able to tell me about it. It was a one in a billion shot, but considering what we had so far, it was worth the trip. She only lived three streets down from my building. Plus, I could ask her to keep a look out for my scarred spook without letting anyone else know we were looking, just in case he ever did show his face around Trenton.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The jingle of Ranger's ringtone made Stephanie jump in the silent office. "Yo," she answered with a tired grin.

"Yo, yourself."

"How's Boston?"

"It's raining." _Very enlightening, he should write travel brochures_. She didn't want to hear about Boston anyway.

She had a fairly good idea why he was calling. "So, I suppose he's given you the full report then, whatever that could be, since we don't know anything about it yet except exactly how easy it is to creep me the hell out."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Babe, no one's called to tell me anything. What's creeping you out tonight?"

"Someone left some artwork at my apartment. I'm not really a fan so far."

"You're right. That wasn't much of a report."

"Well, then call Tank and get the real one. I don't really feel like reliving it."

"You called Tank?"

"He was already there."

"I thought you weren't comfortable with Tank."

She smiled remembering the way they'd laughed over lunch, but then felt guilt slither down her spine that she was still keeping that from Ranger. "He's growing on me."

This time, Ranger's pause lasted slightly longer. "Babe, where are you right now?"

"I'm in your apartment."

A knot in Ranger's neck, that he hadn't realized was there, loosened at her words. "Is Tank there with you?"

Stephanie actually pulled the phone away from her ear to frown at it. "No, of course not."

"Are you in my bed? What are you wearing?"

It was her turn to pause. "I'm in your office and I'm wearing my RangeMan uniform."

"What about underneath? Are they lacey? Be specific."

"I don't do phone kink, Ranger," she said on a laugh. "But thank you. I'm already feeling less creeped out."

Ranger's voice was slightly husky when he replied, "Anytime, Babe."

_Why don't I believe that one_, she thought.

"Is there anything else I should know about tonight?"

_Other than the particulars of my panties?_ "I have a black eye and one of the Explorers had a run in with a brick."

She heard him take a deep breath. "This brick didn't have anything to do with the eye, did it?"

"No, that was a shoe."

"Someone kicked you in the face?" he practically growled.

_Whoa, he did not sound happy about that idea. _"No, there wasn't a foot in it at the time."

She imagined him smiling. And he was. "Do I want to hear the rest of that story?"

"Probably, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to elaborate."

"You really aren't going to tell me?"

Her voice dipped ever so slightly lower as she answered, "they're black cotton."

"Now who's the tease?" And he disconnected. _It's still you, Batman._

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Still awake and feeling a bit invigorated after Ranger's call, I decided to take my chances that Heidi wasn't an early riser, and go for a ride over to her place. Whatever new crazy had started to defile Joe's image wouldn't be looking for me over there. And besides, Tank had a man on my building and that was what, a forty-five second drive from her place?

After double checking that Tank wasn't around to wag his finger at me, I made a break for it. I pulled over in front of Spokes' house and parked the Explorer on the street. When I felt how the chill in the air from the afternoon had turned to a near freeze, I was glad I'd left the Duc behind. Stalkers and bombers be damned; I don't need icicles in my hair.

I trotted up to the door and gave it a good knock. There was no answer. I stepped back to look up at the house. There was no noise inside, but I saw some lights on. I knocked again and decided to give it another minute before I'd call it a night.

The door swung open slowly and my blood pressure rose. I didn't expect a man to answer her door. Especially one this scary.

"Is Sasha home?" was my fake, even, 'I'm at the wrong house and want to have nothing to do with you,' greeting while what I was actually thinking was; _Did you murder Heidi recently and are you still in the process of eliminating witnesses? Because I could easily leave and come back. _Leaving and never coming back sounded like an even better plan.

"Not right now." He was two inches taller than me and rail thin, but from the way he held himself, purposefully casual, I could tell that he was capable of real speed, faster than most. He had large, sapphire eyes, shaggy salt and pepper hair, and the only other man I'd ever seen with a skin tone of such an indeterminate shade of gray had been dead. Plus, he was squinting his left eye - because from the scar he had it looked like someone had tried to tear off his eyelid at some point.

I had a really bad feeling about this. "You wouldn't be Casper, would you?" the words tumbled out.

He had a small, tight smile. "As a matter of fact I'm –" His body language changed and in every language that my body knew it shouted _Run!_ at me.

"Casper Truth!" I couldn't believe it. My heart was racing. I got chills up my spine. I was staring at my ghost.

He gave the impression that he was offended by the interruption, and maybe didn't like the way I'd said his name, but he was still smiling as he answered, "that's me."

I took a second to consider the chances that Casper could produce a weapon in his hand before I could. I didn't like my odds. "Could you just tell her that I came by and would like her to call me." _Smooth, Stephanie, very smooth._ I took a step back. More distance was feeling like a great idea.

"And your name would be?"

_Shit._ That backfired a lot faster than I anticipated. "She has my card."

"She has a lot of cards," he said and opened the door wider to fully face me. "Which one has your name on it?"

I moved a little farther away. "I'll just give you another one," I said, never taking my eyes off of him as I dug in my bag. _Shit, shit shit. My gun was in its freaking holster!_

"You know what, why don't you come in and leave her a message? Or you could wait with me." His gaze felt dirty in the worst ways and my gut twisted as I realized I was still in uniform. "Sasha should be back any second." He made the slightest motion forward and I whipped out one of my old cards.

"Found one."

His eyes never left mine as he took it. His lopsided grin felt even worse than his gaze. "Bond enforcement agent. Cute." He slipped the card and his hands in his pockets without looking at it. _Ohmigod. He already knew who I was_. "You here for me?"

My gun was in my hand and the words were out before I'd fully realized I decided to say them. "Hands where I can see them." _Mental head slap. Had I really just said that? Which one did I think I was, Cagney or L__a__cey?_

He raised his eyebrows and hands. "No problem. Whatever you say, ma'am."

Casper made a move to his left when there was a blue – of all fucking things - sweatshirt hanging over the back of a chair. "Don't move."

"My jacket," he pointed.

"There's heat in the car, tough guy."

"My wallet." When he ignored my warning and bent down to retrieve it anyway I thrust my arm out. The barrel of my gun made forceful contact with his head, cocking it to the side, and he froze.

"I don't need to see any I.D. I already know who you are."

If it's possible for someone not in motion to become even more motionless, then that was what Casper Truth did. And the smile was gone.

"Now stand up, interlace your fingers and put them on your head." This time he complied without delay or comment. My mind was racing a mile a minute. This guy had my spidey senses on overdrive. _What was the best way to take him in?_ Every nerve in my body was telling me he was unhappy and beyond dangerous. And I was alone, with a gun I'd only used at a range or on my own ass.

"Step forward."

He took a single, small step forward into the threshold. He was cocky. I could see it in his movements. They were just slightly too relaxed, like he knew he could take me down any time he wanted.

"Again."

He was watching me closely. I took several backward steps of my own.

"Again."

He took yet another single step and cleared the doorway. Now that there wasn't anything but azaleas within his immediate reach, I finally let myself blink.

"Now lower your hands. _Slowly._ Leave your fingers together." There were so many thoughts rushing through my head I couldn't settle on just one. They all ran together and fed into the kernel of fear growing within me. "And then hold on to your nut sack."

Casper didn't move. "What?" he questioned.

Exactly my sentiments. _What?_ But it's not like I could take it back. "Do it."

"Why?"

Now, I know that this might seem like a strange request, but at the time, seeing the way it confused Casper, it suddenly sounded great to me. Casper was the kind of scary that makes you dizzy. This would make him a lot less scary. Plus, my reasoning was sound. In my experience, no matter what anyone says about training or preparation, once a guy has adrenaline and testosterone coursing through his veins, and then he gets his hands on his junk, he's really reluctant to let it go. His brain goes wonky. It's biology. So, if it was going to give me a second more reaction time than he'd have, I wanted him to walk to the SUV bowlegged with his twig and berries cradled in his hands. He might also think twice about getting shot if had to be standing in that position when it happened.

"Because I have a loaded weapon and I want you to grab a fistful of balls. Do it. Now."

It was visible, the moment that he decided not to attack me and to indulge me instead. He did exactly as I asked. Maybe he also had a curious streak in him.

"Keep your head down and step off the porch. Advance in this direction and stop halfway to the vehicle. Then turn and face the house and get on your knees." Again, he did as I ordered, his hands on his crotch the entire time. He looked ridiculous.

I was playing this by ear and wasn't totally sure what to do next. "And close your eyes." It was creepier than I thought to look into the eyes of a criminal who had his hands below his belt, but I'd have to rethink this strategy at a later date. I was busy. I walked around him and pulled out my phone. I snapped several photos. "Open them." I snapped several more and immediately emailed them all to myself. _Welcome to the internet, Casper._

Now, he was angry. He was breathing heavier than before, but maybe that's because I still hadn't let him move his hands. I couldn't be sure. After all, I didn't really know the guy.

I moved around to stand behind him, always staying out of reach. "Close your eyes again. Keep your head down. Then slowly get on your stomach with your hands behind your neck and your legs spread. If you make any sudden moves, I will shoot one of your major limbs, and then if necessary, your head." I don't know where any of that was coming from. I wanted to shoot this guy about as much as I wanted to shoot myself.

I cuffed him with my knee and my gun pressed between his shoulder blades. I patted him down. No weapons. Then I took back my business card. "You're still not going to move," I said, punctuating the statement with the increased pressure of my gun to his back before standing and stepping away.

Back on the porch, I grabbed his sweatshirt off its chair. No keys, weapons, or wallet. That made him a liar. I was still wondering about Heidi. _Where was she?_ I couldn't leave him there to go look around for her. I left the front door open and then I made a call. "I think I want to report a break-in. I dorve by a house and saw that the front door is hanging wide open. I think something might've happened." I told the address to the woman answering the anonymous police line that evening and disconnected, RangeMan style.

"You're calling the police?" he asked from where he lay the ground.

"Which means we're leaving." I told him "Get up."

This time, Casper didn't obey. "And where are we going?" he asked, a calculating sound to the question.

"Get up."

He rolled and kicked his legs out like some sort of action movie stunt and was instantly on his feet. I shot off a round that clipped the bottom of his pant leg and he froze again. "Try again and next time I'll hit you and mess up that cute hair-do. The cops will find you here bleeding. _Slowly this time_. Get in the car."

"You'd shoot me with the cops on the way?" He climbed awkwardly into the back seat.

"I'd get away with it." _Please don't make me shoot you_. I was fairly sure there was no way I'd get away with it.

He was watching me closely again. Standing at the open car door with my stunner charged in one hand and my gun in the other – and Casper finally trussed and tucked into the Explorer – I had to know. "Why didn't you resist?"

"Because, _Babe_," he winked, "you looked like trouble."

I felt bile rise in my throat. "Where's Heidi?"

"I don't know any Heidi."

_Liar, liar pants on fire_. I moved to zap him the same moment he made a move for the gun. He grabbed it and twisted it around, making me shout in surprise that his hands were free, the open cuffs still hanging from one of his wrists. He tugged my arm and brought my hand down on his knee, hard, and I almost lost my grip. The gun went off and shot somewhere up and off to my left. Casper had a fistful of my hair. He used it to pull me closer to him, yanking my arm out to the side at an impossible angle and then slammed my head back against the car door, sending an explosion of pain straight through to the back of my eyes and blurring my vision. He put his knee to my hand a second time and twisted again, even harder, in the other direction. My scream caught in my throat as I felt the gun's handle slip out of my grasp and my pinky finger made a wet popping sound. Pain shot up my arm. It sharpened my vision and I remembered the stunner I still held. I lunged for him, but he kicked my hand away before I could make contact. I saw the flash of metal near me as he righted his grip on the gun and I hauled backwards with everything I had. Casper was strong, but skinny. He didn't have the weight to control our fall. He was pulled out of the car with me, losing his balance and his granite hold on my hair as we landed on the ground. I made another jab with the stunner as he swung my gun around in my direction. I made contact with his arm and another shot rang out, drowning the sound of his angry growl before he went limp beside me.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**

(1) This line is included as a response to PerfectlyPlum group challenge; 'Deb's Pain Challenge,' June 2010


	13. Chapter 13

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux ****–**** Chapte****r 13**

I gave Casper a hard shove and rolled his sluggish form off of me. I was face-up and practically panting in an adrenaline-induced daze. My head was throbbing and my hand ached as I reached up to touch the side of my ear. That last shot had been close enough to singe my hair and it still rang in my head. My eyes were watering and my arms were shaking hard enough to keep me on my back.

When I finally managed to haul myself upright, I glanced around, my senses returning to me. So far there was no sign of the police, and thank god, no neighbors. It wasn't an emergency call so that gave me a minute or two more before I had to start looking for them over my shoulder. I gave Casper another good jolt and put the cuffs back on him, more or less in vain if he woke up, but it was reassuring anyway.

Now that my mind was back in gear it was in overdrive. I still had no clue what had become of Heidi, but she hadn't appeared on the scene or even made any noise from the direction of the house, not a good sign since there had just been gunfire on her front lawn. Technically, Casper had assaulted me, but that was only after I showed up at the door and stuck a gun in his face. I didn't have apprehension papers for him. I didn't even know why RangeMan had any interest in him. All I knew for sure was that he was dangerous, hiding from something, and knew my name too, too well.

He wasn't heavy, so I lugged him into the back of the Explorer and shackled him in. I ran back to the house and gave it a visual once over as quickly as I could. No sign of Heidi or a struggle or anything else suspicious. Then I headed back out and took off.

Dismissing ideas as quickly as they came, a rough plan of action was forming and I crossed my fingers that what I had in mind would minimize the prospective damage. I was almost positive that what I'd just done violated a heap of civil rights and laws and that it bordered dangerously close to vigilantism. Depending on the circumstances, this might even be interfering with a police investigation or kidnapping. What if Casper was just a missing witness or something? What if he was a prospective customer? Hell, maybe one of the Rangemen just wanted to check up on his sister's sketchy boyfriend. _But he knew me_. Then again, so did most of the city. _Shit_.

The last thing I needed now was more trouble with the police, or to tangle RangeMan up in anything else illegal. I caused them all enough grief with my everyday messes, but this was a unique kind of recklessness and had the potential to go very poorly for all involved, especially since Joe and I… _Forget that, Steph. You've got more important things to deal with right now than concentrating on fending off more tears. _I decided that the best bet was to involve as few people as possible.

I drove a couple miles away and turned onto a small, frontage road, killing the engine. I turned back to Casper, still fortunately unconscious in the backseat. I grabbed my phone and a flashlight, suppressed a monumental shudder, and set to work.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"Hey, you pal, what's this?" Detective Maglio looked down at the unconscious man that was being pulled out of a taxi and unceremoniously dumped on the dirty and broken walkway in front of the station.

The cabbie scratched his stomach. "Don't ask me, I'm just making a delivery."

The detective made his way over and bent to check the man's pupils and pulse. He didn't appear to be injured, but whatever had happened to him, he was looking worse for the wear. "This guy commit a crime or was he the victim of one?"

"Dunno." The cabbie snorted and nudged the prone figure with his foot. "Some broad paid me to bring him here so he could dry out overnight."

The man's hands were duct taped together and his arms were duct taped to his chest, along with a crumpled, scribbled sign that read, 'My name is Casper Truth. I was the man at Heidi Stokes' house tonight. I'm not a very nice guy.'

Maglio shook his head with a chuckle. As if they all couldn't take a wild guess where this had come from. _I wonder what she's go__t__ten herself into now. _"Alright, I'll take it from here."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I thanked the stars that I didn't run into anyone as I dragged myself back to the penthouse, stopping on my way to pick up more ice packs for my newest injuries. I put a whole personal supply in Ranger's freezer and then crawled into his big, silky bed. It felt close to heaven, I was so exhausted. There was only one thing that would have made it feel better, and he was almost 300 miles away.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"Man, you look like shit."

Manny slouched down into the deep leather chair with a groan. "Didn't get much sleep."

The men were settled around the employee lounge waiting for the morning shift change. At RangeMan, it never hurts to be early, but it always hurts to be late. "I figured I had at least a good eight hours after pulling a double, so I thought I'd release some tension with my girl before crashing. Didn't even get two full hours," Manny yawned around the word, "before the call."

Vince shook his head. "Tsk, tsk. Poor time management."

"Hey, I never said it wasn't time well spent. It just wasn't spent sleeping."

Woody handed Manny a big cup of black coffee on his way to his seat. "Why the call?"

"Someone was taking pot shots at Cadell last night. Now he wants security for his family too."

"Can't say I blame him."

"I can," Vince said. "It's that asshole's own fault people are shooting at him."

"But not his family's," Woody defended his opinion.

"Doesn't matter who or why," Manny chugged nearly all his coffee. "either way I'm headed to New York on no sleep to play chauffer to a couple brats with too much money for their own good."

"Boo frickin' hoo," Vince was not the most sympathetic of men. "There's what, maybe a week left to his trial?"

Woody shot Vince a disapproving look. "Good thing it wouldn't bother you, because he's gonna want a bodyguard for his wife too and you're on deck."

"Shit." Vince grimaced. He wadded up the trash from his breakfast and shot for the bin. Nothing but wastebasket. "Maybe the boss'll do it. He's already in Boston."

Woody looked at him like he was speaking tongues. "Are you nuts? Even if the boss were to take a housewife bodyguard detail, it wouldn't be out of town."

"He never stays away for very long anymore, especially when he can send someone else," Manny added with another giant yawn. "So it looks like it's you and me on this trip."

"Damn. That woman smacks her gum like she's chewing cud."

Woody got up to refill Manny's cup for him. "Either of you know why Santos got called back in?"

"No; it could be anything. The rotation's been fucked up all week." Vince replied. "But he sure as shit wasn't happy about it."

"I thought he was supposed to have two days." Manny accepted another giant mug from Woody. "Thanks."

"Three days," Woody corrected.

Vince scoffed. "I'd be pissed."

"When are you ever _not_ pissed about something?" Woody usually managed to maintain a fleeting tolerance for RangeMan's resident curmudgeon, but it was always harder in the morning.

Junior ambled into the room. He took the other leather easy chair and nodded to Woody. "You're up."

"Have fun in New York," Woody taunted in farewell. "You two play nice."

Vince threw his crushed paper coffee cup at Woody's back, but missed this time. Retrieving it, he turned to Junior. "Did you see if I was down for an out of town shift when you logged out?"

"Nope," Junior smiled. "That was not what I noticed." The others looked at him in question. "There are two new names on the schedule."

"We're not supposed to get new guys for," Manny did some quick mental math, "a little over a month."

"The names weren't exactly new," Junior explained. "They just weren't on there yesterday."

Manny sat up a little straighter. "Are you talking about the guy transferring from Atlanta?" Manuel Ramos was one of the younger Rangemen. He loved his job and was a natural at security work. He had the energy and playfulness of a puppy and he _always_ had something to say or a question to ask.

Junior shrugged. "I think so." He was close in age and energy to Manny, but possessed none of his curiosity. A born military man, as far from a puppy as you can get, Junior was obedient. To a fault. He felt that if he was supposed to know something, Boss would see to it he was told. Bottom line.

Manny asked Vince, "Do you know him?"

One of the more senior men, Vincent Iovino was a transplant from the Miami office. He was hired there when it first opened and was brought north a couple years ago when the Trenton office started to become the central hub of the company. He'd been around for a while and had known most of the men even longer, so if it happened at RangeMan, there was a better than good chance Vince knew at least something about it. However, that did not mean he wanted to chat about it. "I met him once."

"And?" Manny prompted.

"And I haven't decided yet if we're soul mates," Vince griped. "What do you mean 'and'? I met him once and that was almost two years ago. I don't get out to Atlanta that often."

"What's got his panties in a twist?" Junior jerked a thumb at Vince.

"Mrs. Cadell."

"Ah," Junior pulled a face. "Enough said."

"Wait," Manny wore a confused frown. "You said two names."

"I did. And Santos' mood might improve when he hears about it."

The satisfied light in Junior's eye gave Vince pause. "You don't mean…"

Junior's grin grew several sizes.

"No fuckin' way!" Vince offered up one of his rarely seen smiles. "Are you serious?"

Manny looked between them. "Serious about what?"

Junior nodded. "I thought I was seeing things."

"Come on," Vince laughed. "Really?"

"Really."

Manny was still looking confused. "Really what? What are you talking about? Who is it?"

Junior let the hammer drop, dramatically with a slap on the arm of his chair and quirk in his grin. "Stephanie Plum."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"PLUM!" Tank bellowed across the control room momentarily ceasing the soft patter of computer keys. Stephanie gopher peeked over the edge of her desk's carol. "My office." He didn't wait for a response, just turned on a sharp heel.

Rising slowly from her seat, Stephanie glanced at Woody. He was looking at her with unmasked dread, like he was attending her execution. _Oh, crap. I'm being called into the principal's office. _Tank's door was open for her and as she approached she could see him behind his giant desk, waiting, watching her.

"Close the door and take a seat." _Gulp_. Tank could be unnerving in a good mood, and Stephanie had never seen him like this. Not even the night he threw a man out a third story window. "I got a call this morning that I'm having trouble with." He held her eyes with a hard stare that had her straining not to fidget. "Did you take in Casper Truth last night?"

"Um." _He knows about that? Already?_ "Yeah." Stephanie knew RangeMan would find out something about Casper Truth the next time someone ran a search against Trenton police reports, but this was sooner than she'd expected.

Unwavering, his jaw tightened, and in a slow, steady, deep voice that felt like the tolling of iron bells he went on, "Then I need your help here. I'm trying to figure out if you're deaf, dumb, or dishonest. Because I can't think of any other reasons you would have been out on a RangeMan case last night, _SOLO_, without so much as telling anyone where you were going, when I distinctly remember reaching an agreement with you on this subject only _two days ago_."

Stephanie was wide-eyed and speechless. She didn't know whether to be offended or frightened.

"On top of that, you have some new weirdo on your back." Tank leaned forward slightly. "Just what the fuck were you doing?"

"I," she stammered. "I was – "

"You weren't thinking, that's what."

She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Ok. So I should have said something to – "

Whatever she was about to say, Tank didn't want to hear it. "If you _had_ been thinking you would have realized that what you were about to do was stupid, foolhardy and dangerous for no good reason. You would have realized that there was an entire _building_ full of people who would have gladly taken a ride out there with you."

_Ouch._ Stephanie felt that one. "I was just going to talk to Heidi. I didn't think it'd be that big a deal."

"Really?" his voice only rose slightly but sharply. "And how did that turn out for you?"

Stephanie wanted to defend herself. This wasn't really her fault. He was misrepresenting what happened. "Look, a file came up that I couldn't find anything on. Stokes was the only lead and I just wanted to ask whether she'd seen him around. He didn't have a record or anything. It was long-shot, legwork on a barely there file. I didn't expect him to be there!"

If any of his other men had spoken to Tank like that, they'd have finished the sentence on the floor, if they finished it at all. "Stephanie, exactly how often does anything turn out the way you expect it to?"

"Heidi Stokes is not dangerous at all. I've known her for years and she lives on my way home. There was no reason to worry about having back - "

Tank made the same slicing motion with his hand that he had when they were at lunch. "Stop," he boomed. "Stop explaining. Stop talking. What you did was inexcusable and all you're giving me are excuses."

Stephanie jumped and her gut twisted. _Was he revoking his offer? Could he fire me?_ She knew now that RangeMan was as much Tank's as it was Ranger's. Stephanie was ready to panic. _Oh god, he's going to fire me_.

When she didn't try to say anything else, he continued, "As of now, you are on 'first call garage duty' and will be for the next month. You are not going to do _any_ work on _any_ RangeMan case that can't be done from your desk unless you are given _expl__i__cit_ permission, _from me and **only** me._ And since it was only last night that I put your name on the building rota, probably at about the same time you were meeting up with Mr. Truth, I'm going to see to it that you have plenty of desk time."

Stephanie blinked at the flood of information. She only understood about three quarters of it. "I'm not fired."

"Not yet." Tank watched relief spread over her face and thought it was a promising sign. "Are we clear? On all of it?"

"Yes, Boss." The words sprang out automatically and she didn't even pause long enough to hear how unusual yet natural they sounded leaving her lips.

_That's even better_, he thought. "I'm assuming that you didn't come back last night to complete an incident report or a notification of interaction with local LEOs form or report that you discharged your weapon?"

Stephanie had the decency to look chagrined. "No."

"That isn't all you have to do." He handed her a thick packet of papers. "I can't keep you from working for Vinnie and running havoc after the skips he gives you, but understand that we do business differently. At RangeMan, the job's not over when you drop them off. And here, you give notice and take someone with you, even on long-shot, legwork."

Stephanie's mind worked furiously to reconcile her need to be allowed her own direction and her desperate wish to earn Tank's approval. She tried not to let her clashing emotions show. "Loud and clear."

_Easier said than done_, they both thought.

"Now, go do these," he nodded at the packet, "and let me know as soon as you're through. I need to be officially briefed on whatever the hell you did last night."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The administrative office was the one out-of-place room in the RangeMan building. It was where the sales, accounting, and human resources departments were housed. The walls were a muted, dusty blue, broken up on one side of the room by large, open, high grade, security windows that let in the daylight. There were desks, but no cubicles, all with personal effects and photos decorating them. Oak file cabinets covered one wall and the only electronics were desktop computers and a photocopier. The luxury desk chairs were comfortable and a large leafy plant sat in one corner. There was soft, Latin music playing on the office stereo.

At one time, Diego Alvirez would have given anything to be back down in the sterile control room with the other Rangemen. The transition had taken a while, but eventually he'd settled into his new reality and found a comfortable place for himself. He'd known from the beginning that the prosthesis would make it impossible for him to do the work that the other men from his unit now made their lives; accepting it had been the challenge.

He didn't have any appointments set for that afternoon, and all visitors had to be buzzed into the office, so he was startled enough to jump in his seat when the door suddenly swung open.

Stephanie was just as surprised, stunned actually. She looked around, taking it all in. Then she turned to him and smiled, a huge wondrous grin. "Hello."

Alvirez couldn't help but grin back. He would always remember the moment he met Stephanie Plum. He'd heard story upon story about her, and had had glimpses over security monitors, but had yet to lay eyes on her in person. He stood and echoed her, "Hello." He was wearing soft, khaki slacks and a finely tailored, crisp white, button down shirt with a silk, black on black, RangeMan tie. He was tall and muscular, but not in the 'pro-wrestler look-a-like' way most of the other Rangemen were. He had thick black hair with a gentle wave to it, toffee colored skin, and warm golden eyes. Angry, jagged scars reached up the right side of his neck to about an inch above his collar. Without a right hand, he held out his left to shake hers. "I'm Diego Alvirez. Is there something I can do for you?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean…" she rambled, still flustered by her discovery. A laugh bubbled from her. "Sorry. I just came to bring these searches." She indicted the stack of files she held. "I'm still getting to know my way around, so I thought I'd bring them myself." She gazed around her again. "I didn't know… I had no idea that this…"

He couldn't help but laugh back. "Yeah, it is a little nicer than the gym or the gun range. We're more relaxed in here."

"I see that." Then she noticed his waiting outstretched hand. "Oh, geez, sorry," she said as she grasped his hand. "I'm Stephanie Plum." She handed over the files. "And please don't call me Miss Plum, or even worse still, ma'am."

"That won't be a problem, Stephanie," he made a point of using her name. "We're less formal in here as well."

She smiled at him for another moment and then turned to the windows. "These are amazing. I never knew they were here. I guess I've never been around to the outside of the back of the building before." She leaned close to look out. As far as Trenton scenery goes, it wasn't a bad view. He walked over and stood beside her. "I think they're even better than the windows in Ranger's bedroom and those are really nice." He glanced in her direction, shocked at the comparison she chose to voice her assessment, but she was too engrossed to realize the implications of what she'd just said, or that she'd even said it aloud. But then she winced slightly and he noticed the faint, belated blush creeping up her neck.

No, he would definitely never forget the day he met Stephanie Plum.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Stephanie's briefing with Tank had been short, but extremely unpleasant. It reminded her of the classes she had to take before her first Reconciliation, only worse since she'd had to go through it face to face with Tank. For Tank, it had been frustrating in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time. He couldn't believe his ears. The hodgepodge of things that must be going on in that woman's mind at any given time were unsettling to contemplate.

After that trial, she was ready to go home for some down time. Her new security system had already been installed first thing that morning and set to work with her fob. And Ranger's. Stephanie had a little laugh to herself about that. As if he needed it. She tried it out and decided that her place was now safe enough to bring Rex home. So she brought her best little guy back to the apartment with her. Then she checked to see that the ringer on her house phone was still switched off and curled up in bed with her library book, a cheap pretext, because she knew that what she was really doing was conking out for a hard, long nap.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I was jet propelled into consciousness and out of my bed by something akin to a car alarm being blasted through a bullhorn. From the deep sleep I'd been in, my alert level rose from bliss to 'nuclear disaster' level in about .4 seconds, which threw my equilibrium off enough that I ran half into the threshold as I tried to make a frantic, confused escape from I didn't know what. Once I made it to the living room and started to finally recognize my surroundings I was only fractionally less confused. It was still several more seconds of panic before I realized I was hearing the sound of the alarm on my new security system. And in my stupor, I did the exact opposite of what the security system is in place for and I hurried to my door and ripped it open to greet whoever it was that had set off the air raid sirens in my apartment. _Real smart, Steph_.

In my hall I found Grandma Mazur and my mother, both looking like they were in the middle of stroking out. I pulled my fob out of my pocket to end the aural misery, only to have my cell phone start ringing a split second later, startling me all over again. I answered it, apologized, and gave the code word for false alarm.

"What the dickens was that?" Grandma Mazur screamed, her ears still ringing.

"That was my security system." I answered, waving them inside. "Why are you trying to break in?"

Grandma shuffled past me, donned in a red tank top that was tucked into a pair of skin tight mango leggings. "We knocked, but you didn't answer."

"So you just decide to break in?"

She headed directly to the living room and flipped on the tube, kicking her feet up on my coffee table. "My soap is on. I have to see if Dr. Doug is finally going to get it on with the nurse who keeps slapping all the other women and is blackmailing that man who switched his sister's baby out with his own."

My mother rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen, "I tried to stop her."

_Sigh_. I hate it when my mother stops by unannounced. As I followed her into the kitchen, I braced myself for whatever impending debacle awaited me and the pounding headache that would surely accompany it.

"Why aren't you answering your phone or returning my calls? How am I to know you aren't lying here on the floor in agony, bleeding to death or unconscious in a hospital somewhere?" My mother walked over to the answering machine, turned up the volume, and pressed play. 'Available memory, zero.' She gave me a near 'Burg glare. "Full. Don't you ever listen to these? Why did you drag your father out after his dinner to buy you an answering machine if you didn't plan on ever using it?"

Several messages from her began to sound out. "Stephanie, it's your mother…" She took the exasperating liberty of deleting them herself. "These messages are from days ago, Stephanie." Then she frowned and tutted over one curse-filled message from Lula that mentioned Joe's ass several times and alluded to rumors that I wasn't answering the phone because I was too busy with the superhero staying over at my place. Then I cringed as I heard my own voice.

"Ranger, if you're there, pick up." I made a dive for the machine. "Mom, I'll listen to my own messages later," I stuttered out at rapid fire pace. But I didn't make it in time.

My mother's eyes widened as his voice answered me. "Babe?"

Then her back stiffened as I greeted him with what she certainly believed were disgraceful manners. "Yo." Then Ranger's deep, sexy chuckle. I managed to reach the stop button before she could hear me ask him for a ride. We just stared at each other for a minute.

"Stephanie, dear," my grandmother's voice pierced the awkward moment. "I've already missed my show. Do you have the cable package with those skin channels?"

My mother crossed herself and we both shouted out, "No!"

Then she looked at my face and tsked at me. She was assessing my black eye. "What have you done to yourself now that you have to wear that heavy make-up?" She licked her thumb and reached out to wipe away some of my concealer, but I was faster and dodged it in time.

"It's fine, Mom. Lula hit me with a shoe. It isn't that bad."

"That woman is a hazard." _Funny, usually I'm the one considered the hazard rather than the hazardee_. She grabbed a rag from beneath my sink and began to compulsively wipe down the countertops. "Don't you ever even use your kitchen? There's a layer of dust." She reached up and rubbed at one of the bullet holes in the wall like it was a spot of dirt. When it didn't come off she leaned in to inspect it closer and then stood back up and crossed herself twice.

We heard my grandmother shouting at the television in the background, "Kick his ass!"

My mother made a noise of disapproval. "Your grandmother won't stop complaining because your father has been watching nothing but news stations for days now. If you insist on ignoring our calls and won't even stop by the house to let us know you're alive, you should at least let her come spend the afternoons here and give your father a little peace." _She couldn't also be thinking about her own peace too, could she?_

"She can't come here. I'm almost never here during the day and she won't have access to my new security system." _And lately Ranger's been mysteriously hanging out here and the idea that she'd corner him alone in my apartment made me feel faint_.

Pulling leftovers out of the bag she'd brought in with her, she sighed, "Do I even want to know why you've had that installed? Am I going to be getting more calls for some reason."

"No," I said helping her unpack, "and probably yes."

She bent to place some beef and mashed potatoes in the fridge and froze. "You have eggs."

_Oh, shit. I forgot about those_. "Yeah, I know." _Sometimes I can even feel them shriveling when I come home for family di__n__ners_.

She popped back up with an almost fearful hope in her eyes. "Are you baking?"

I hated to dash it. "No. I don't even own a baking pan."

The light flickered out and she bent back to gaze in again. "Stephanie, there are vegetables here, and ham and milk and cheese." This time her voice sounded genuinely fearful. "You aren't planning on making _quiche_ are you?"

"Mom, I don't even know what goes in a quiche or if I've ever had one."

"Then what are you doing with all this food in here? It's going to spoil, Stephanie," she started pulling things out. "I'll cook something for you now."

"No, Ma, please just leave it. It won't go bad." I jumped up to sit on the counter, pulling open one of her containers and grabbing a spoon.

"Get off the countertops," she ordered without looking up or stopping her ingredient retrieval. "And get a plate."

I jumped down as asked, but didn't want to admit to her that the only two plates I owned were already dirty. "Please, please, Mom. You can leave it there. I swear it won't spoil."

"It's a shameful waste. I can make something now and you'll have the leftovers…"

_God, she isn't going to stop_. "Look, the food isn't for me, ok? And it'll get eaten."

"What do you mean it isn't yours?" she asked still going strong, having now moved on to the cabinets, clearly amazed at what she'd found. "That's just ridiculous. Who else's could it be if it isn't something you're going to cook for Joseph?"

"It's Ranger's." She finally paused and looked over at me. _I can't believe I'm about to say this_. "Ranger did the grocery shopping." She just stared. "He's a health nut and you put butter and salt in everything you make. He can cook his own healthy stuff."

"He bought the groceries." The words left her lips like it was a foreign language. "He cooks."

"Yes. He's a really good cook. He probably even knows how to make quiche."

She was very quiet for a moment, and then started putting everything back. "Well, then we'll save this for when _he_ makes dinner for you."

"Oh, come on Mom, I didn't mean it like that. I love your buttery food, more than all those vegetables." _Damn, I never say the right thing at the right time_. "He likes it too. He just has this health food quirk, that's all." I simply could not believe I was having this conversation.

She took up a sponge and started washing my dishes. I hated that I was a grown woman who had to have her mother come over in order to get her dishes clean, but I sure as hell wasn't going to stop her. I needed clean plates for the rest of her salty, fattening leftovers. After several minutes she said, "Then, I'll try to make something acceptable for him when you bring him to dinner tonight."

This just keeps getting better. "He can't."

"Why not?" she snapped, like I might have been lying about liking her food.

"He's in Boston on business."

She pursed her lips. "What business could Vinnie have in Boston?"

"It's for RangeMan. His company has a branch office in Boston."

"I wasn't aware." Now she sounded offended again, like I should have told her this a long time ago.

I stifled another sigh. I'd hurt her feelings. Now I needed to appease her detail-fishing in order to soothe them a little. "He has offices in Trenton, Miami, Boston, and Atlanta. And he does business in New York, Philadelphia, Las Vegas, and Atlantic City. I don't really know too much about the international stuff, though. That's all government related or classified." _I'm assuming_.

"That sounds nice," she clipped, obviously still upset. I knew any conversational evasiveness on my part would make things worse and I did not want to continue discussing Ranger with my mother. So I headed to my room to change and get ready to go back to Haywood. I knew I had at least one more clean uniform. And I was assuming that whatever it was Tank wanted me to come in for, I couldn't go wrong with full dress. Yes, that means the gun too.

When I returned, my mother was standing beside my trash bin, with a full on 'Burg glare. She was even tapping her foot. _Uh oh_. Her voice was tight and angry. "Have you been eating sweets?" He voice was traveling higher, always a bad sign.

"No," I asnwered immediately, confused and offended.

"Then what is that?" She pointed at the cake that was still lying at the top of my garbage bag. It still looked good enough to eat.

"That's cake, but it's in the trash, Mom. I obviously didn't eat it."

"Why do you even have it in the first place?"

I could now add 'trash can snooping' to the list of reasons I don't like my mother to visit my apartment. "It's from Ella. She likes to make me deserts and doesn't know about the sugar thing yet. I'll tell her when I see her."

"And just who is this Ella that's baking you cakes?"

Geez, it was like talking to a jealous boyfriend. "She's Ranger's housekeeper."

That might have been the worst moment I've ever chosen to tell my mother the truth. She had a dual Ph.D. in guilt tripping and nagging, but now she just looked genuinely hurt. But she is a Plum, and that denial and avoidance stuff in which I'm so accomplished was a hereditary trait. "What are you wearing?"

"It's my uniform for work. I have a meeting I have to be at soon."

She moved over to my dining table and began straightening and dusting everything in sight. "Is that at RangeMan too?'

"Yes." I followed her out of the kitchen as she fussed about my apartment. Grandma was still on the couch, cheering over something very violent on the television.

My mother shot a disgusted look at my holster. "And this meeting of yours requires a gun?"

"Everything at RangeMan requires a gun. It's company policy."

"Well, then your grandmother and I will get out of your way so that you won't be late for _that job_." She threw her dusting rag on the table (I didn't even know I had one of those) and headed for the door, grabbing her pocket book and coat. "Come, mother. We're leaving."

"My show isn't over," Grandma Mazur protested as she finally got off the couch and came to see what else was going on. "And I didn't even have a chance to congratulate Stephanie."

My mother was already in the hall, waiting impatiently for the elevator.

"For what?" I asked with no little amount of trepidation. When Grandma Mazur was excited, it wasn't ever for any conventional reason.

"Burning down the Chef-ess' house. You should have called me. I could have helped. I know some friends of your Uncle Peppy who can get rid of -"

She was interrupted by an outraged squawk from the hall as my mother heard the news. "Mrs. Reznik's daughter, Paula, never starts fires! She has a good husband, a lovely house, two beautiful little girls and a Basenji."

I could imagine her in the hall, crossing herself repeatedly. Tank and Ram's words from the day before bolstered my confidence as I stepped into the hall behind my grandmother. "I didn't burn down anything! Alton set her gazebo on fire and I cuffed him and dragged him to the station so that he could be arrested before he set anything else ablaze. But _I_ didn't have anything to do with the fire!" Grandma Mazur looked crestfallen and my mother didn't even acknowledge my outburst as she stepped into the elevator and jabbed at the lobby button. "And I don't want a Basenji anyway," I added weakly as the doors were sliding closed.

_Great job, Steph._ Yet another successful interaction with your mother. _At least she'd only mentioned Joe once._ That was kind of a miracle.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Lester and Cal were already there when I arrived, waiting for Tank. At the other side of the conference room, and slightly removed, sat another man I didn't recognize. I stopped short for a moment. He was large, rugged, and wearing a RangeMan uniform. I thought I'd met all of the Trenton Rangemen, or that I'd at least seen them all at some point. But I guess not, because this guy I definately would have remembered.

"Bombshell!" Lester called out with a giant grin as I entered the room. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." And I also had no idea what the meeting was about or why I'd been asked to attend it. I chose the seat across from him and Cal. "I thought you were the one who had better places to be."

His wiggled his eyebrows at me. "Been there and back again already."

"Good for you," I wanted to frown, but my lips betrayed me, "that sounds like it was real special."

Lester sat back in his chair with his hands folded over his abs and his legs stretched out in from of him. "She's a screamer." [*006]

"Fucking hell, Santos." Cal gave him a knock to the side of his head. "What is wrong with you?"

Lester ignored him. I was starting to notice that Lester had a regular habit of ignoring things he didn't want to hear. But he certainly looked like he'd enjoyed hearing Susanna. "A great set of lungs."

"Yes, I think I remember someone mentioning her... lungs."

"And stamina. She could sing opera." I didn't know exactly what Lester was trying to accomplish with the borderline inappropriate verbal jousting, but whatever he was looking for he wasn't finding. And he wasn't letting up either. So why should I?

"Well, how underhandedly self-congratulatory of you to mention that."

Cal snorted. He was openly watching us like he was at a tennis match. The mysterious, handsome stranger at the far end of the table was also watching with blatant interest, but there was no snorting from his direction.

"And she has this thick, sexy accent. French." Lester's brow creased slightly and he gave a low whistle. "She was hard to understand when we first met, but I got the hang of it quick enough."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure you did." _How far was he going to take this?_

"And then I didn't."

I frowned in confusion. "Didn't what?"

Lester adopted a crude approximation of a French accent and threw his head back. "I didn't stop, didn't stop!"

He'd surprised me and I couldn't hold back the small titter fast enough_. Ohmigod._ He did not just say that! "You're a pig."

"She didn't have any complaints." Reclining even further back in his seat, folding his hands behind his head, and looking very satisfied with himself, "I'm seeing her again later."

"Then let me give you a tip for the future, Casanova," I looked him dead in the eyes, "women don't appreciate being mimicked by their lovers in order to deliver punch lines to terrible jokes."

Cal was laughing and I had the urge to ask him if he'd care for any refreshments with his show.

The stranger with the dark, emerald eyes cleared his throat, as if he needed more than that adorable dimple to get my attention. On top of that, when he finally spoke he had a slow, deep, panty-destroying, Texas drawl. "I think I've waited about long enough for these apes to show some manners and introduce me." He stood and bowed his head ever so gentlemanly as he took my hand. His handshake was firm but gentle. _Too long,_ I thought. _He'd waited too long. _

"Colt." He held my hand for that extra second that makes it feel more than casual and I couldn't contain the tiny smile that flashed across my lips. _Was 'sexy' in the RangeMan job description? And if they were all of this caliber I'd have to seriously step up my game to be one of them._ They all certainly had it in spades. Well, they would if Cal wore a hat. "And you must be Miss Plum."

Now that was a charmingly ambiguous beginning. The only thing I wanted more than to know how he already knew my name was to ask him if he'd please say my name again. "Colt, you said?" He nodded. "And you would be…" I glanced back at the others, but they looked perfectly content in their roles as strict observers. Cal was turning out to be quite the natural spectator. He was probably a wallflower growing up. He struck me as someone who preferred to blend into the background and examine what was happening rather than participate. It made me curious about his choice to have his face tattooed. That made him hard to miss, even in a crowd.

Colt went ahead and answered for them. "… from Atlanta, and if I didn't know these men as well as I do, I'd be offended they've never mentioned me. I've certainly heard plenty about you."

Wasn't that a slightly cat-y remark for someone who could pass for a lumberjack? I couldn't get a read on him. "So I'm going to assume that you're in town on business then?"

"That's why I came, but it doesn't mean I can't find some time for pleasure while I'm here."

My mouth went dry and I saw Tank step forward into the room in my peripheral vision. He didn't like what was happening and I took a permanent note of it. I'd been dressed down by the boss enough to last me for quite a while. _Can you win a gold medal for backpedalling? Is it a team sport? Because Tank and I are both getting very good at it._

"Well, you'll have to look elsewhere for anything like that, not much of it around here," I tried to sound like I meant it and my mind immediately went to the only place it found more attractive than fit, naked men... "There's this great bakery not far that you could try, though."

From the laughter in the room, I assume my eyes must have glazed over. _Oh damn, I want some glaze. Chocolate glaze._ Cal looked at Tank with undisguised shock and I blushed. Apparently, I'd been looking right at him when I said that last part out loud. But Colt wasn't deterred. "Personally, I'd rather try the vanilla." From the general reaction to that statement, I could tell that even Lester thought things had gone far enough. So could Colt. "Actually, there's a man I been lookin' for."

_What?_ "Really?" That was unexpected and brought me firmly back to ground. "Lucky man."

"Now don't go getting the wrong idea, Darlin.' I'm talking about business now."

"And you think this man has come to Trenton?"

"Could be. But it's been a while and I been all over the place. I'm startin' to think he don't exist at all."

_Uh oh_. Now I saw what it was that Tank had brought into the room with him. It was my Casper Truth file. He tossed it on to the table and Lester made an immediate grab for it, but I panicked and pulled it away first. Lester gave me a strange look. "You joining the team, Bombshell?"

"No." Tank declared. "She is not."

Colt was watching me again and I was starting to sweat. Tank settled in at the head of the table. "There's been a slight change in plans. As of last night, Casper Truth is in TPD custody."

_What plans? Oh, shit, what have I done now_? Lester snapped straight to attention, all joking on indefinate hold. Cal hadn't moved except to peer over at my hand resting on the thick file.

"How?" Colt demanded. "What did they get him for?"

"He hasn't been charged with anything more than trespassing yet, and that might not stick. They still don't even know if it's his real name and he isn't talking."

Colt was getting impatient, "But what happened?"

"Plum brought him in last night," Tank casually answered him as if he'd asked him to borrow a pen.

Cal nodded at me, "that's his paperwork?"

Tank sighed. "And most of the evidence she collected."

"Evidence?" Lester smiled, his eyes bright and mischievous.

Cal didn't. "Most?"

"You?" Colt was gaping at me like we'd just told him I'd won a Nobel Prize for Physics.

I bristled. "Why not me?"

"How do you even know anything about it?" This time he shot Tank an angry look.

What was his problem? "Hey, I was just working through a backlog in my inbox. His file was in there. I run the searches. So I searched for him."

"And you found him." Cal's eyes were still locked on the file folder.

"Well," I shrugged, "not on purpose."

Tank shook his head, looking pained.

"What does that mean?" Colt was starting to make me nervous. It dawned on me that I'd only known him for a few minutes, and already I had this dangerous, highly trained man upset with me. "You took down Truth on accident?"

I wished they would all just stop looking at me. This had to be more of Tank's idea of punishment for going out there on my own. "Sort of."

"Just give them the file," Tank ordered.

I nervously slid it over to them, stamping down the sudden rush of nausea. "It's the first time I've ever had to do one of these, so it might not all be…" My voice trailed off when Tank shook his head at me again with a look of disapproval. I just couldn't seem to make him do anything but frown today, and I hated that.

Colt opened the folder and stared at the photos. "Is this him?"

"Yeah." I made a point not to look at what he was holding. I didn't want to see those photos anymore. I'd seen enough. "Handsome bugger isn't he?"

"What's this?" Lester held up the plastic sheet with the blank pages I'd used the night before.

"Those are his palm prints." My skin was crawling, remembering even the minimal contact I'd had to have in order to get those and the other samples. "But I don't know if I did that right either."

"Fingerprints, photos of his tattoos," Cal held up the various other little envelopes, "and hair and DNA? And you said there was more?"

Lester was looking through the more detailed pages, "Why did you collect all of this?"

"I don't know really." I had a stone in my gut that felt a lot like guilt and it made their questions sound like an interrogation. "I suppose because we didn't have it and he was just slumped there unconscious. I know it's probably a violation of his rights, but why not? Anything the cops have ever had keeps falling through and I know that we won't lose that. Plus, I thought that he might have hurt or killed Heidi or someone else. I wanted to make sure there was at least some evidence somewhere that he exists and was in Trenton."

"You said that there was more; what's the rest of it?" Cal didn't seem nearly as surprised or bothered by any of this as the others did. He was objectively asking questions, clinically taken it all in, concentrating on the file like it was a difficult crossword puzzle. It was helping to keep me from hyperventilating.

"I took his sweatshirt and my gun has his prints on it."

"He had your weapon?" Colt exclaimed.

"Not for long." I couldn't even let my eyes stray near Tank's side of the room as I was forced to admit it out loud. "I got it back."

Colt sat back in his chair and was looking around the room as if he might find a kangaroo in a leotard or several mimes dancing on the ceiling or just any sign that would assure him he was dreaming. "Almost six months. Six months and nine different states searching high and low for a man who is nothing but smoke and mirrors. You spend _one_ afternoon and knock on _one_ door and _accidentally_ apprehend the king of ghosts." His voice didn't sound nearly as sexy anymore.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that he'd be there."

Cal didn't look up from where he was still going over all the photos. "Don't apologize."

I made eye contact with Tank but his face was stone. "Why don't you tell us in your own words what happened."

I repeated my version, leaving out things like the fact that I'd made him hang onto his juevos. I hadn't included that in the file either.

Colt examined my face and asked, "Is that how you got that shiner?"

"No, I already had that." I showed them my hand. "Casper just sprained my pinkie."

Lester started to laugh with such force it wasn't actually making much sound anymore. I was starting to understand why Tank wanted me to be here for this. He might or might not be a genius, but he is evil. I tried so hard to keep the water from gathering in my eyes. "Look, I'm not sure what I fucked up this time," I said gesturing at all the papers now littering the table, "but I really didn't mean too. I _never_ thought he'd be the one who'd open that door."

"Don't apologize. This is good work." Cal looked over at me, still the professional. "These other photos, are these all of his scars?"

"All that I saw. I didn't check anywhere below the belt."

He nodded and went back to his studying. "What was he like?"

"How do you mean?"

"You're the only one who's seen him in person. You had an altercation. How did he react? What were you're impressions?"

I thought about it for a second. How to describe Casper Truth… "Menacing? He immediately made my spidey sense shoot off the charts."

Colt rolled his eyes. "Your spidey sense?"

"I mean that I knew he was dangerous right away. The same way anyone who looks at any of you thinks to themselves right away that they don't want to be tussling with this guy."

"You tussled?" Colt asked with a mocking chuckle.

Cal turned to him, "Would you give it a rest and let her talk? I want to hear this."

I wished I could hug him. "He was playing along, but wanted me to know that he was. And he was a liar, a really good one. He was so skinny he probably looked like a junkie when he wore that big sweatshirt, but he was strong and fast. _Really fast_. And he didn't shift or wiggle around when he got out of the cuffs. They just sort of fell off like he was freaking David Copperfield." I paused to consider my next words. "I've stared a lot of psychos in the eye, and they all have that same look that gives you the worst kind of goosebumps. But Casper, he didn't look crazy. He was scary… calculating." I shivered, remembering the way he'd winked at me.

Tank grabbed the pages of my written statement and a pen and slapped them on the table in front of me. "What haven't you told us?" He made that 'stop' gesture I could now recognize as his 'I'm pissed don't test me' move and told me, "Don't bother trying to deny it. Just right it down."

Tank _was_ a kind of genius. That's why he had me tell them everything out loud, to hear whatever I hadn't written. _Damn_. I drew the pages towards me and added to the end 'Subject was aware of agent's identity prior to encounter. Subject referred to Plum as 'Babe.' I put the pen down and handed the pages back.

"Stephanie!" He slammed his fist on the table and made Cal and Colt jump. "You were going to leave this out?"

In a weird way, the excess show of anger made it less intimidating and I was able to hold his eye as I explained, "I wanted to tell him first, myself. He isn't going to like it."

Tank mulled that over for a second, considering Ranger's reaction when he found out. "It could be a coincidence," he offered, obviously doubting his own words, "but something tells me that he's not going to see it that way." By that time the amended pages had made it around the table, all signs of amusement had disappeared. I could hear the gears turning.

Cal waved his hand at the table. "Now that we have photos we can start canvassing; find out where he's been hiding, what he might be doing here, maybe learn how he found out about you."

I took a deep breath and shook my head. "I've already been thinking about that. It's worth a shot, but with the photos I think facial recognition software might be a better way to go. It would tell us more about where he's been and when he was there. As for me, he could have been holed up somewhere for weeks and still known who I was from the paper. I think there was even a small story on the local news last week. It isn't as strange as it used to be for someone to know something about me. That's not the part that's bothersome. The part I'm worried about… he winked."

Colt raised a skeptical eyebrow. "He winked?"

"When he said 'Babe' he winked at me and even if we ask around, who in their right mind is going to admit to any of _you_ that they, or someone they know, are the one who opened their mouth?"

Lester cocked his head in a gesture of concurrence. "You've got a point there."

Colt looked around between all of us. "Am I missing something?"

The rest of us all glanced around at each other and it was clear that I was going to have to answer. I cleared my throat. I'd never actually had to explain this to anyone out loud before and this was the last direction that I'd expected this meeting to take. "There is no one, and I mean _abso-lutely no one_, that _ever_ calls me Babe, except Ranger. And," I cleared my throat again, trying not to blush, "I'm pretty sure most people know that he wouldn't like it very much if they did."

"Uh-uh," Lester grinned. "No way."

Colt shot me a curious glance and asked, "so you and the boss – "

"Plum," Tank suddenly boomed and cut him off. "You can go now."

I sat surprised for a moment before I could reply, "Yes, Boss." Cal turned slowly, eyes wide, and stared at me like my head was spinning, Linda Blair style. I stood up to leave, still a little shocked at the abrupt dismissal, but not wholly ungrateful for it. The last thing I wanted was to be questioned by a near stranger about whatever it was that was going on between me and Ranger. Colt didn't seem to think much of it at all. But Lester suddenly looked pissed. I think that was the first time I'd ever seen him actually display anger, but who it was aimed at was not as easy to discern. I just hoped it wasn't me and headed straight for the door.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The men watched Stephanie leave the room and waited until the door was closed before turning back to each other. Lester was glaring daggers at Tank. "She's really not going to work on this?"

Tank wasn't phased. "No. She isn't."

"Why the hell not? That doesn't make any sense."

"She's on desk, indefinitely," Tank explained, "and you are not to undermine that in any way. All of the work she does goes through me."

Cal's tennis eyes were back and Colt was closely observing each man's movements. He knew them from the occasional work he'd done with them in Atlanta and on the Casper Truth case, but he was unfamiliar with the dynamic at the Trenton branch and it was turning out to be nothing like he would have imagined.

"You have got to be fucking kidding."

"Watch it, Santos. This decision is final."

Lester's protests were getting louder. "She's the only person who's ever seen the guy. She had a goddamned conversation with him."

"Plum is a witness, and you may interview her as such, but she is not part of this team. Understood?"

"We got nowhere on our own," Lester pressed. "She found him! She took his photo, took his DNA..."

"Be careful. You're on thin ice."

"She took him down," Lester persisted. He had far too much invested to accept her exclusion without at least having his full say. "How can you exclude her?"

"Like most people," Tank sent Colt a significant glare, "Casper Truth underestimated her. He's not going to make that same mistake a second time."

"How do you know that? You weren't there," Lester accused. "None of us were there."

"That's exactly my point!" Tank roared as his temper snapped loose. "She went out there on her own and met up with a nightmare. It's a miracle he didn't kill her. I won't have her doing it again. When it comes to Stephanie, we all answer to Ranger, even me, and I'm not going to allow her to continue throwing herself in harm's way while I'm on watch, tough case or not." Then Tank rounded on Colt, yanking him out of his chair by the front of his shirt. "And if you ever question, discuss, or so mush as mention Ranger's personal life again, you're going to find out just how easy it is to lose this job. She is off limits! And if you don't watch that shit in front of Ranger, you're going to lose more than this job." Colt threw his hands up in a gesture of sublimation that did nothing to pacify Tank. He shoved him towards the door. "Both of you get out, I need to have a private word with Santos."

They didn't waste time obeying.

"If you ever mouth off like that I again, you're going to force my hand." Tank advanced on Lester, but he only stood to the challenge, not backing down.

Now nose to nose with Tank, "Backseating her on this is a mistake."

"Then it's mine to make." He thrust a finger in Lester's chest that would have knocked other men off balance, "Not yours!"

"She'd good, T. She could do this."

"I know she can; she could do it in her sleep, but that's not the point. I need her to wake the fuck up." He snatched up her pages and rustled them in Lester's direction. "You've read this. Does it add up to you?" he asked as he threw them back on the table. "We still don't have the whole picture here. She's keeping things to herself that we need to know. I can't have that."

Lester folded his arms, amping up the challenge in his tone even further. "You're one to talk. We both knew more than what was in that file, more than anyone else about Truth. At least we did until she got a hold of it."

"We can't tell part of it without telling her all of it, and that's out of the question and out of our hands." Tank balled up his fists, like he could feel just how useless they were to solve any part of this situation.

But despite Tank's growing agitation, Lester still wasn't giving up his fight. "She needs to know who she's dealing with."

"She isn't going to be dealing with any of it!" Tank shouted, starting to pace slightly in his frustration. "And I think she's already got a pretty good idea what he's capable of, and that just makes her behavior all the more infuriating. If I'm going to have her on the job, then she needs to_ do the job_. And part of that is telling us what we need to know. I've got to make her understand that if she runs with us, that means she runs _with_ us. No exceptions."

"You bringing her all the way in?" Lester's anger melted away in surprise.

Tank's didn't. "I made her an offer. She didn't say 'yes'."

"But she didn't say 'no' either, right?"

"If she keeps heading in the direction she's going, her answer isn't going to matter anymore."

"Does Ric know?"

"Who the hell ever has any idea what Ric knows?"

"Fuck." Lester sat back down at the table and gazed at the evidence still scattered in front of him. "If she'd only brought him back here. Now that the cops have him he's as good as gone."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But that's one more reason that one of us should have been there with her."

"You have to admit, this is pretty fucking good," he said picking up one of the reports. He let out a soft, tired laugh. "A drop piece with his prints?"

"I know," Tank sighed. "I could have kissed her when she told me."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Alone in her apartment, after a day of nothing but talk of Casper Truth and disappointing her mother, and Tank, Stephanie found herself staring at her clock, willing the numbers to count faster. Passing out in Ranger's bed had been enough to keep disturbing thoughts off her mind the night before, but now… she saw Casper winking his mangled eye whenever she closed her own. Security system notwithstanding, she was sleeping with her gun near her, replaying over and over in her mind the way he managed to pull it away from her, to get out of his cuffs, his viselike grip on her hair. He was in custody, she knew that, but still… there was something about him that stayed with her, and made her skin crawl. And when she finally managed to get visions of him out of her mind for a while, a scratched up photograph with an infant's tiny handprint replaced them.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

My chartered flight had been behind schedule and I was running on fumes by the time I picked up my car from airport parking. Time had never crawled as slowly as it had the past two days. I'd never had such a hard time being away from her. I wasn't sure what had changed, but something did, and now I ached for her. The drive felt like an eternity. I broke speed limits the entire way, my fatigue trumped by my desire to get home, my need. As I pulled in I spotted one of my cars in her lot, but it had happened before; my car in her lot, and the apartment empty and cold. _If she was with him…_

_Please be here._

The locks gave way beneath my hand with a familiar ease. The apartment was dark and silent, but not empty. I felt it immediately, along my spine and across my skin. She was near. [*007]

Her bedroom door was wide open and light from the street spilled over the clothes she'd left strewn on the floor. I could imagine her moving there, shedding the weight of her day and the last few layers that guarded against the cold that always seeped in past those old windowsills.

She was asleep when I found her, coiled in a ball around several pillows and nestled deep beneath the covers. I barely had enough time to notice her quick breathing before she sat up with a terrified gasp and fumbled with the gun she'd hung from a holster on her bedpost. I quickly switched on the light and she flinched away, covering her eyes with a tiny shriek. But when she saw me, recognized me, knew me; she grinned and slumped back into the tossled bedding. Her head tipped back as she breathed a cheerful, "Hi."

Her chest heaved and mine tightened. Stephanie was a lethal ball of energy that, for some unknowable reason, surrendered its sting when we were alone. Gave it up freely, unguarded and inviting, from the moment we met. I'm threatening with a purpose. I did it for a living. And she saw right through it. She always did and always had, even if she didn't always know it. She amazed me in ways I hadn't known were possible. At moments like this it killed me that she wasn't mine, only mine.

Sitting up on her elbows, she smiled at me sleepily, her eyes still squinting slightly. "When did you get back?"

I turned off the light. When she smiled at me like that she was bright enough all on her own. "Just now," I told her as I made my way over. She sat higher, stretching her neck upwards, expectantly. Her eyes drifted shut when I kissed her. Her hand grasped my neck and she kissed me back like I'd been gone for a year, pulling me down, deeper into the kiss, stealing my breath and what was left of my strength.

When those azure gems reopened, they held me and she asked, "Are you staying?"

"Yes." _Could she have doubted it? _Stephanie was still smiling sweetly as she kissed me again. Then her delicate fingers were unbuttoning my shirt. She slid her hands over my shoulders to push it off and I couldn't contain a small groan. I reached out in the dark to touch her, but she'd shifted back to make room in her bed for me to climb in beside her.

"Good," she whispered and laid back on her pillows, looking up at me, wearing my clothes, hair spread around her, wild in the moonlight. It froze me for a moment. I wanted to memorize that image, take it in and never let it go. The tightness in my chest gave way for the first time in days. She was here. And she wanted me to be here with her.

I hadn't settled my full weight on the bed before she was in my arms. Always one step ahead of me. She kissed me twice on my neck and again on my shoulder before burrowing into me and tangling our limbs. I was exhausted, but so keenly aware of her; the caress of her cheek and lips against my chest, her scent, the warmth and weight of the leg that settled over mine, the tug at the nape of my neck as she loosed my hair and wove her fingers through it, gently brushing her fingertips across my scalp and drawing a sigh from my lips. I tightened my arms around her. I couldn't hold her close enough.

It wasn't long before her breathing grew even and my own slowed to match it. "Sweet dreams, Babe," I whispered into that chaos of curls that haunted my own dreams.

"Don't need them," was the half asleep answer that seemed to echo in the still night air around us.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*006 : The Blood Arm – Suspicious Character (Lester's song)]<br>[*007 : Stateless – Bloodstream ]

** Coming up next... The 'job offer' secret is out and Ranger, Tank, and the other men discuss the addition of Stephanie to the ranks. **


	14. Chapter 14

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter 14**

Ranger gazed down at her peaceful face. The soft rays of predawn lit the room with a gentle glow. It gutted him to walk away. He had only just come back. His thumb traced the graceful curve of her cheek and she stirred. He allowed himself one torturous moment to imagine that this was his life, that he wasn't who he was, that he could be allowed this. All of it. Just for a moment. But glancing at the clock he knew his moment was up and he had to tear himself away again. [*008]

He dipped his head and whispered a kiss across her lips. But one wasn't enough. _Who was he kidding? It was never enough_. She returned his third kiss, still half asleep. The quiet moan that made its way out of her dreams loosened his restraint and his next full, tender kiss drew another moan from her sleep and pulled her with it. Her eyes only opened long enough to see that his were closed. His finger swept errant curls from her face while her hands traveled up his arms and around his neck. She made a tiny, discontented noise. He pulled back with an inquiring look.

"You have clothes on," she complained in a soft, honest, sleepy voice.

His almost smile hovered above her own. His eyes lingered over her black eye and he gently brought his hand to her darkened cheek with a delicate caress. "Your eye isn't as bad as I expected it to be." He feathered it with a kiss and then his smile turned vaguely impish. Stephanie let out a cry of surprise when he suddenly reached down and pulled the t-shirt up, exposing her bare breasts. Her hands automatically moved to cover herself, but he pushed them away and pinned her in place with a piercing stare. He watched her chest heave and a pale blush spread down from her neck and shoulders. It made his knees feel weak in a way nothing else could. Her breath hitched when he repeated his gentle caress across the large, fading bruise from their tumble down the stairs and his breathing was just as uneven when he witnessed her exposed, carnal reaction to the several kisses he dropped along its edge. "Looks good too," he murmured against her warm skin. Then, with eyes squeezed closed in a near Herculean effort, Ranger pulled her shirt back down, running his hands over her sides to rest on her hips, basking in the way her body moved beneath them, shifting to turn towards him and press a sliver of an inch closer. The loss was almost painful when he withdrew his hands.

Stephanie responded with a shiver, her words were considerably more bated than before. "Are you sure you need the clothes?"

"Babe," his voice was thick with desire, but firm.

"Damn," she whispered.

Ranger breathed a laugh. "I have to go." He quickly touched his lips to hers again. "It's early. Go back to sleep. I'll see you later."

Their lips briefly met one more time as they kissed each other into a new day. And then he was gone.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Ranger's office was a unique mixture of bare bones necessity and deep pocket luxury. If it didn't need to be there, it wasn't, but if it did, it was top of the line. A large space, there was more than enough room for even the most dedicated workaholic to be comfortable, someone a younger Ricardo Manoso could have never dreamed he'd become. Nevertheless, there he sat, elbow deep in security reports, on the side of the room that was dedicated to his desk, visitor chairs, and various office appliances. Tank was on the other side of the room, settled in his usual spot on the sofa which sat a few feet away from the meeting table and had a view out of the two large windows that clearly communicated 'corner office.'

Tank found him there in the early hours of the day, engrossed in the contracts for the latest of the out-of-state clients RangeMan had started accepting. "You've seen her," he opened staidly. It wasn't a question.

Ranger's eyes didn't stray from the page in front of him as he asked, "something I can do for you?"

"I doubt it," Tank answered cryptically. When Ranger finally looked up and gave his friend the attention he was seeking, Tank added, "I knew she wouldn't tell you what she did."

Ranger had to purposefully quash his natural reaction to unexpected news that he knew related to Stephanie. He was too busy to be in the mood for another one of Tank's oh-so-friendly lectures. "Spit it out already."

"There's a lot to tell." Tank sat forward with his elbows on his knees. "We need to have a serious discussion about Stephanie."

Tension was rolling off of Ranger in waves and Tank waited it out. He knew it was a touchy subject and normally when Tank 'discussed' Stephanie with him it was between body blows or gulps of something that burned on the way down, but this was too important to punch or tiptoe their way around it. He had things he needed to say and Ric needed to hear them.

Eventually, Ranger let his mask slip and slumped back in his chair, tossing his pen down on his desk and letting the business persona fall away entirely so that they weren't two CEOs having a meeting, they were just two friends touching base. "What about her?" he asked. "Because if this is going to be the same shit you always say, skip it."

"Things aren't the same though, are they?" Tank wanted to hide his smile, but didn't bother. Ric would hear it anyway. "You've been staying with her."

A telling silence followed. Ranger hated talking about these things, but knew that Tank wouldn't walk away until he'd heard whatever it was he came to hear from him. "She still went back to him," he said quietly.

Ranger looked about as defeated as Tank had ever seen him and he wanted to throw his accusation back at him. Tank wasn't the one who was guilty of dwelling on the same shit over and over again. "Did you give her any reason not to?" Ranger didn't answer, which was answer enough. He was pissed, and Tank hoped he was pissed at himself. It was about time he showed some sign of evolution. "Ric, you've been with her almost every night that you weren't out of town, and one of the nights you were gone she spent in your bed." Tank could swear he saw a spark of amusement in Ric's eye and thought he might be getting through to him. "Doesn't sound like she's with him to me."

Of course, it takes more than one well-meaning comment to change a stubborn man's mind. "Nobody asked you."

Then again, Tank had been 'commenting' on the subject for the better part of a year; at this point 'stubborn' was an understatement. "You're such a dumbass."

"Is that what you came here to tell me?" Ranger was not amused.

"No," he answered immediately, but he felt like rubbing it in a little. "No, but that doesn't make it any less true." Tank wasn't sure where to begin. Ranger had missed an awful lot over the past week. "Since you don't already know what I'm about to tell you, I'm going to assume you haven't had a chance to look over the potential new hires I vetted for next month." Again, it wasn't a question.

Ranger glanced over at the stack of folders that had been waiting on his meeting table for almost two weeks. It looked even taller than he remembered. He was annoyed by Tank's obfuscation. Generally it wasn't a good idea to put Ranger on edge, piss him off, dick him around, and then try to discuss anything serious. Tank was maybe the one person who could get away with it. Ranger didn't appreciate that he was taking advantage of that fact. "I've been... busy," he stated simply.

Most people wouldn't have been able to pick up on the irritation in Ranger's voice, but Tank could, and it had him grinning on the inside. He knew more or less what Ranger had been busy doing, and busy not doing, this past week. So he was rather enjoying Ric's unease. "Stephanie's is on top."

Eyes widening ever so slightly, Ranger immediately replied, "that's out of the question."

"No," Tank was firm. "It's very real and it's already done. I added her to the list and made the offer earlier this week."

Ranger was instantly furious. "I didn't sign off on that!"

"You would have." Tank shrugged and made a conscious effort not to be taunting. "You're the one who hired her in the first place."

"To run searches and distractions." Ranger didn't share his other reasons. _To keep her safe. To keep her close. To walk through the building and see her face, her smile, her hairbrush left on the vanity in his bathroom_. But Tank got the general idea and had a feeling Ranger was talking more to himself anyway.

"Then you're wasting her talents," Tank declared. "She's the best candidate. She'd be the best new hire we've had in years."

Ranger was shaking his head. "She doesn't have the training or meet any of the other requisite qualifications."

"Stephanie's been your private pupil from the beginning," Tank rolled his eyes. "Training doesn't get much better than that. And during that time she's taught you as much as you've taught her, maybe more. As for the technical skills, we can take care of that training ourselves. She's a quick study."

"It wouldn't work out," Ranger said, his mind running through a litany of ways this would complicate their lives. But Tank could hear more fear than certainty in that excuse.

"That brings me to my dilemma. She didn't agree to take the job."

Ranger didn't expect the pang of disappointment and rejection he felt. _Wasn't he just trying to convince Tank that he shouldn't hire her full-time?_

"She didn't refuse it either," Tank continued. "But ever since I made the offer she's been taking a greater interest. She's getting to know procedures, learning the systems, getting friendlier with the men. She's already on the schedule. I think she wants to take the job, but isn't sure yet if she should. Even if she does, it won't be legally official until we sign the other new hires. Right now she's just dipping her toes in the pool. She's taking this decision very seriously."

"It is serious," Ranger bit out, still angry that Tank had done this without consulting him and damn confused that this was the first he was hearing about it. He felt the grip of an unfamiliar tension take hold of him. It was an inimitable sensation, something he hadn't faced in years. Deep, intense, panic. RangeMan work was dangerous. It was demanding. He knew far too well how all-consuming the job could be. If she came on full-time it would mean that he'd face day after day with her always so close but still out of reach, that her time and attention might be monopolized entirely by RangeMan business, that he wouldn't get her random phone calls for help on what are always otherwise bored afternoons filled with 'yes men' and financial advisors. And he wouldn't just see her in the building; she'd see him too. _Dios mio_. She might truly begin to _see_ him. And deep, deep down in a remote corner of his mind that Ranger had never fully acknowledged to himself, he was constantly worried about what she thought of him, that if she saw too much she might begin to turn away. He worried that if that happened and she was a Rangeman, it would mean that she'd be there in front of him every day, not because she wanted to be there with _him_, but because she had an _employment contract_ that said she had to be. _How could he survive knowing that? _The tight control he'd managed to maintain for so many years was slipping away from him and he was powerless to stop it. Whether Ranger wanted it or not, his life, both personally and professionally, was barreling forward to places unknown and previously unconsidered. And he was trying his best not to be pissed at Tank for giving that speeding train its first big push.

Tank recognized his partner's warring reactions. "Look, I know that you think I should have told you about this first, but I wanted her honest reaction and if you had mentioned or hinted anything about it to her, I wouldn't have gotten it," Tank offered as a semi-apology. He knew that he needed to curb the negativity and make Ric see reason before he began to spiral. "Or maybe you wish that you'd made the offer instead of me. The fact is you didn't. It's too late now and since you aren't objective, I'm not convinced it would have been a good idea anyway. So get over it, because you know you're not actually against this. You're just pissed at me and if you keep that shit up in front of Steph you're going to hurt her." Tank's familiar tone, his casual shortening of her name, and the nerve it took to dictate to _him_ about Stephanie's feelings; all worked to strain Ranger's already faltering composure. "If she decides she wants this; I don't want you to fuck it up for her."

Ranger leaned forward over his desk, thrusting the evil eye he was shooting at Tank that much closer. "Oh fuck you, T! I'd never – "

Tank didn't flinch. "Can it, Ric!," he interupted the threatening tirade. "You know better than anyone the kind of stupid shit you pull around Stephanie. I can only see two reasons to object to hiring her. One, she can't handle it. Or two, you can't handle it. And I know for a fact that she could more than handle this job. She was born to do this." Ranger ran his hands through his hair. That hit closer to the mark than he wanted to acknowledge. Tank sat back into the sofa and shook his head at himself with a hearty chuckle, "What I didn't count on was that _I_ might not be able to handle it."

Ranger watched Tank laugh to himself at some private joke and felt the urge to knock that smile off his face. "Explain."

"I've been her boss for two days and I think I'm already getting an ulcer." It was Ranger's turn to chuckle, but Tank returned it with a no-nonsense stare. "There is no way you could be her boss, Ric. If that's one of your reservations about this, than forget it. It doesn't apply." They held each other's gaze. Ranger wasn't used to being dictated to and Tank wasn't used to dictating to him. Something was shifting between them in a way neither of them quite understood yet. "You're the CO around here and I've never minded being your second in command, in fact I prefer it that way, but Stephanie's going to have to be different. Unlike the rest of the men, she'll answer to me." Ranger's jaw worked as he imagined Tank giving Stephanie orders. "You have to see that your personal relationship would make it impossible for her to answer to you as a final authority. You couldn't give her orders. You'd never be able to reprimand her. It was hard enough for me to do it."

"Reprimand her?" Ranger asked with an angry edge. Reprimanding his men usually involved heavy mats, taped up knuckles, and a trip to the medic.

The warning tone didn't affect Tank. "She fucked up," he stated with his usual eloquence.

"What could she have already done?" There were a million possibilities. With Stephanie, it literally could be almost anything.

Tank had to put even more effort into his nonchalance than Ranger put into his forbearance as he elaborated, "She captured Casper Truth."

Ranger didn't react. He sat immobile.

Tank explained, "She went out, alone, without telling anyone where she was going." Tank knew which buttons to push to get a rise out of him, but he wasn't in the mood for one of Ric's hissy fits just then, so he tried not to dwell too much on those details. "She found and captured Truth, then produced a complete descriptive profile on him." When Ranger still didn't reply, he emphasized, "in one night. Altogether, it took her about forty minutes."

Ranger sat motionless for another minute. Then, without a sound, he stood and started pacing. When that didn't help, he punched the wall, twice. Tank watched and waited for Ranger to regain control of himself. But it was taking an awfully long time. Finally, Ranger, still angry, faced Tank and snapped, "How is that even in the realm of possibilities?"

"I don't know, man. It's been twenty-four hours and I still can't wrap my head around it," Tank admitted. "When Juniak called to tell me that someone had dumped Truth on the front steps of the station I thought it was a joke, except Juniak doesn't have a sense of humor. My second thought was that Casper had found some poor slob and was trying to pass him off as himself to confuse things for some reason. It was a full five minutes until it occurred to me to check Stephanie's GPS. And there it was. She'd gone out during the night, snagged Truth, and then came home and went back to bed. Like she was running a damn errand."

"She can't be involved," Ranger said as if he could force the words to be true. "She can't have anything to do with him."

"She isn't on the case. But as far as being involved, it's too late, Bro. She met him, talked to him. Hell Ric, she wrestled a gun away from him."

Ranger's head fell forward to contemplate the floor in weary distress. "I just saw her. She never mentioned it. She wasn't even hurt."

"He sprained her pinkie finger."

Ranger had the strangest urge to giggle. That absurd, little detail, more than anything else, convinced him to believe what Tank was telling him. He paced a few more laps around his office, prowling like a caged, big cat being kept from the hunt. "Are we certain that it's actually him?" he asked. He was having trouble processing the reality that Stephanie might actually be threatened by a danger he was not only unable to combat, but that he could barely comprehend or identify in the first place.

"She says he is and I trust her. I believe her words were something to the effect; 'he made my spidey sense overload'," Tank breathed a soft, affectionate laugh and put his hands out in a relaxed shrug. "You probably know better than I do whatever the hell that's supposed to mean."

"It means it was him." Ranger was certain. He would trust Stephanie's gut over even the most reliable intel.

They were both silent for a minute; Ranger still trying to process it all and Tank stalling what he knew he had to say next. This detail was the part of the story that Tank was reluctant to report. He knew Ric wasn't going to take it well, but it was the severity of his reaction that worried him. Ric wasn't sensible when it came to Stephanie. "I have her reports for you to read through, but there is one other thing I think you should hear from me." Tank paused. He remembered the wave of dread and rage that he'd felt when he found out and if that was any indication of what Ranger was going to feel…

"For fuck's sake, what?" Ranger demanded, his impressive reserve of patience finally exhausted.

"She says that she knew who he was as soon as she saw him," Tank's body tensed, preparing himself for Ranger's reaction, "and he knew who she was." Ranger picked-up on the fear in Tank's hesitation and his gut twisted at the dark glint in Tank's stare as he finished,  
>he winked at her and called her 'Babe'."<p>

Quick as lightning, Ranger had picked up one of courtesty mugs kept on his meeting table and threw it, the cup smashing violently into a desk lamp across the room. "That's impossible!"

Tank was on alert now. He knew that the destruction of office furniture was probably going to be the worst of it, but sometimes Ranger lost his head when he was angry enough, and Stephanie's safety was a time-tested trigger that only got worse every time it was pulled. It wouldn't be the first time that Tank had to save Ranger from his own temper. "Stephanie explained what happened. She didn't seem to think it was a coincidence," he continued in an even measured tone, hoping it would bring Ric back from the edge he was teetering so close to.

Ranger let out an involuntary shout of helplessness before slumping back down behind his desk. He held his head in his hands. "This is exactly the kind of thing I try so hard to keep away from her," he said with quiet disgust, both at himself and at Tank.

He had been prepared to restrain a belligerent man, but instead Tank now felt the unfamiliar, and vaguely confusing, need to comfort a _dejected_ Ranger. "She went out and found it on her own. You had nothing to do with this. It wasn't your op."

That fact didn't do anything to comfort or reassure Ranger. If this was what happened with a man like Truth, what would it be like if someone who was actually an enemy from Ranger's past decided to target Stephanie? He had an elite force of trained professionals at his disposal and, however it was that it came about, Truth still managed to put hands on her. "And where were you?"

"Hey," Tank held up his hands. "Don't dump this at my door. I had her agreeing to stay here for the night. I had her safely tucked away in your apartment. I trusted her to stay put." Tank couldn't quite keep his voice quiet as he recounted it. He was still angry at her for what she'd pulled. "Stephanie and I made an agreement this week that she wouldn't do things like this anymore, but I can't have my eyes on her twenty-four seven and I shouldn't need to. I'm not her keeper, Ric. She's a grown woman. She made a bad decision and I've already seen to it that it's one she won't want to repeat."

Ranger's defenses stood to attention at the sound of his tone. A protective instinct had him fighting the urge to hit Tank while his rational side tried to focus on the reality of how difficult it is to keep Stephanie in one place. Tank was right, even if Ranger didn't like hearing him say it. "And what was this _reprimand_ that's going to achieve the unachievable?"

"A month of garage duty and I've benched her until further notice, all field work contingent on my approval. I made it clear that if she pulls something like this again, she risks her job."

Ranger wasn't so sure about that. Tank would have almost as hard a time firing Stephanie as he would. But Tank had been right about the reprimand. Ranger wouldn't have been able to do that. Actually it's more like he wouldn't be able to get away with doing that. Even if he tried to dictate the work Stephanie was allowed to do, he knew better than to think she'd listen to him. Deep down she'd know that no matter what she did, he'd forgive her. Hell, there was a better than good chance she wasn't even going to listen to Tank. "You understand that's not going to work, don't you?"

"I'm not going to keep her at her desk until she's so desperate she does something reckless," Tank scoffed. "My plan was to keep her inert for varying periods of time, just long enough to make her miserable. It'll work. Besides, she still has skips to chase after."

Again, Ranger was irked at the notion of anyone even mildly mistreating Stephanie. He didn't want her to be miserable. And he didn't want to consider the fallout if this blew up in Tank's face. With Casper Truth on the radar he would need Stephanie to be at least semi-cooperative. "It's not about fresh air and excitement, T. It's about her independence." Ranger let Tank absorb that for a moment. "When it's threatened, the result is never pretty."

"Nobody's threatening anything. She's free to make her own choices. Taking this job, and everything that comes with it, the paperwork, the cooperation and even the reprimands, is completely her decision. She knows that. I made that perfectly clear."

Ranger was strangely calm all of a sudden. "Are you sure about that?"

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Manny and Cal were working behind a small bank of monitors at the security desk in the lobby of Monticello Lofts. Woody would occasionally appear on one of the screens, shifting his ladder around the room, and adjusting the various cameras. The recent renovations when the building went co-op meant a new contract and also that the security systems needed to be reworked. Making the changes would be an all day job.

"What's she like?" Manny asked Cal, tapping his pen agaisnt the counter he was leaning over.

Cal knew what was coming. Manny was always talking; he'd say just about anything to anyone who'd listen. Cal, conversely, would rather focus on the job at hand than think about what little he knew of Stephanie's latest work on RangeMan's highly classified manhunt. It was far too early in the morning for this. "Indescribable," he answered impatiently.

"But you have worked with her right?"

"You could call it that," Cal shrugged, "I guess."

"Weren't you her personal guard at one time?"

_Yeah, _Cal thought_, it was way too early for this shit_. "One time."

Manny's eyes were still on the monitors, but he looked like he was watching something they weren't showing. "And now she's on that big case with you and the new guy – "

"No, she isn't," Cal interrupted, remembering Tank's declarations.

"But Santos – "

"Santos is wrong," he cut Manny off before he could get pulled into a full-blown conversation on the topic.

Manny let that information steep and the team spent almost the entire next five minutes being productive _and_ silent. But five minutes was just about Manny's limit. "So what's it like to work with her?" he asked.

Cal forced himself not to react with annoyance. Once Manny had a hold of a subject it was hard to wrestle it away from him. "Never the same thing twice."

"I thought you said you only worked with her once?"

"I was her guard once." Cal pressed the talk button on his radio and called to Woody. _Chirp. '_The angle is wrong. We're blind on the south side of the room.'_ Chirp._

"You think she's really gonna come on full-time?" Manny looked like he'd be terrified of the answer, no matter what it was.

"Looks that way," Cal mumbled absentmindedly. _Chirp_. 'That's better. Now switch back to camera 1.' _Chirp_.

"If she does come on full time," Manny stood and shifted his weight about in a nervous way, "she'll have to be assigned a regular partner then, right?"

Cal had just about reached his limit. "I don't know, Man. There's nothing _regular_ about her." He handed over one of the partially assembled receivers. "You think you could get some shit done? I'd like to get out of here sometime this week."

Manny grabbed the device and twisted the casing to give him access to its inner workings. He was far from intimidated by his senior Rangeman's irritated censure. He knew something that Cal didn't. "Then you should adjust camera 3 to cover the blind spots behind the pillars near the bank of elevators in the back." He might be talkative, but Manny was a multi-tasker. He could stress over Stephanie Plum and focus on the job at the same time.

"Damn," Cal whispered as he looked back at his work. _Chirp_. 'Woody, go back to camera 3. I need to prove to Ramos that he's acting like an asshole.' _Chirp_. Cal smiled over his shoulder. "We fixed that blind spot an hour ago."

"We did?" Manny looked back at the monitors. "Well, shit."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

My alarm went off at the normal hour, but I awoke in a very abnormal mood. For the first time in a week I wasn't disappointed to find myself alone in bed. I even smiled when I saw the slept-on wrinkles in the sheets beside me. Ranger was back in town. I hopped out of bed and prepared for my run with more energy than usual. I was in such a good mood I considered eating a healthy breakfast. Who knows, maybe if I keep waking up like this for a few more days, I might actually go through with it? As I headed out of my building, I could still smell the lingering scent of tea and dish soap that had greeted me when I'd plodded into the kitchen. I was both jogging and smiling. I must have looked like a lunatic. But even if she is sweating and winded, what woman wouldn't smile at the thought of Ranger washing his dishes after having breakfast at her place?

I was lost far enough in my thoughts that I hadn't noticed the slight change I was making to my route. I found myself standing on Buchannan St., gazing across the half empty parking lot behind the Yarn Depot at the privacy fence out back of Heidi Stokes' house. It was still and silent, no sign of life at all. I kept running, and made my way around her block, repeatedly glancing through trees and side yards at any part of her property that was visible. I thought about calling the house. I'd had her number in my phone since that night. I thought about calling the police and asking if anything had come out of the reported disturbance at her place. I even thought about calling her sister to ask her about where she might be, or what Kenny was into, or why the hell Casper had been at her house in the first place. But I knew those were all bad ideas, and instead I stomped down on my curiosity, my pride, and my gut. After another trip around her block, I finally pulled out my cell and hit speed dial 4.

Two minutes later I was breaking a nail as I smashed down on the 'end' button and changed directions, heading full tilt in the direction of some strong coffee and several hot and gooey, egg and cheese McMuffins. I wasn't smiling anymore.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank distractedly answered his phone on the third ring. "Talk."

Slightly winded, she jumped right in without further greeting and declared, "I think we should go through Heidi's house while Casper is still locked up."

Abruptly yanked out of his drudgery, he asked, "Stephanie?"

"There's no crime scene tape around the house. There's no sign of life."

He didn't like the sound of this. "Where are you?" _And why was she panting?_

"Nothing about the house has been secured. Do we even know if the police processed it?" she dodged his question. What had seemed like a good idea less than a minute ago was starting to feel a bit hasty. She had thought it would be a step forward, calling in to Tank instead of just breaking and entering on her own. Though she'd swear from the way he'd asked for her location and the sound of his exhale, even admitting to him that she was near Heidi's house was something she should have given more thought and then ultimately decided against. "Because if Casper does get out, he'll have ample opportunity to go back and tamper with who-knows-what. Or if enough time goes by he might be able to get someone else to do it for him. Then the house won't be any good to anyone. It should be searched now."

This was sounding worse and worse to Tank. "Where are you?"

Stephanie really didn't want to answer that. "We might be able to find something that will tell us what he's doing in Trenton or what possible connections he might have to me."

There was a pregnant pause before he warned, "Even making me ask twice was pushing your luck, Plum."

_Crap_. "I'm on my morning run," she said as innocently as possible. There was silence from the other end of the line and Stephanie could picture Tank's stern expression. She could practically hear his disapproval. "I'm across the street from the house," she reluctantly conceded. Stephanie felt a pin prick of jealousy as the answering silence continued; she'd never have a stare intimidating enough to work over the phone. "I haven't gone near it yrt, but someone should."

_Yet?_ Tank tried not to lose his cool. Probably, if he was going to be working with Stephanie he was going to have to get used to calls like this. "Finish your run," Tank bit out his commands, "visit the range, and then park it at your desk."

_Well, that's just great_. Stephanie knew she was right about this, but if she went ahead now she wouldn't just be called reckless; she'd be disobeying a direct order from Tank. "At least have someone watch the house," she requested. "We still don't know what happened to Heidi."

Tank had the urge to count to ten and chant _serenity now _a couple dozen times. "Your run, the range, a desk; you haven't been cleared for anything else today, for any reason."

"But you are going to do some – "

"Plum!"

"Yes, Boss," she snapped testily.

Tank snapped right back at her. "Am I understood?"

It took a moment for her common sense to steal control of her tongue away from her temper. "Run, gun, and done. Got it."

Tank disconnected. He stared at the phone in his hand and hoped he hadn't made a colossal mistake with Stephanie that could backfire and ultimately lose RangeMan one of its greatest assets before it even had it in the first place.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Ram was already working when Vince entered the room. The 'cache,' or storage room behind the gun range, was a small, dark, secure room filled top to bottom with enough weapons to kick start a cold war arms race. Every week it was given the once over; cleaned, inspected, and inventoried. Then given the twice over by another man just to double check. Without greeting, Vince immediately began to recount Ram's tallies. Then the normally taciturn man surprised him by being the first to speak up. "Did you see that I have more surveillance shifts this week?" Vince asked.

"I heard about it." Ram had always wondered why Vince seemed to think that the others would care when and where he was scheduled to work. Ram looked for his own assignments and only his. Honestly, he didn't care when Vince, or any of the others, were scheduled to work unless it was the same shift/assignment/location as him. But it was no secret that everyone had been given a shift with Stephanie. There were three separate stakeout assignments this month, and Stephanie had been listed for surveillance as often as possible. "We all have one."

"I have three!" Vince flapped. All of the Rangemen had been checking, and in some cases double-checking and triple-checking, the schedule as soon as word began to spread that Stephanie was on it too. Most of them were discovering that they were partnered with her for a non-hazard shift, and whether or not they were, they all seemed to have mixed feelings about it. "Alone with her? For eight hours?" Vince sounded like he'd rather spend those hours getting shot at and also a little frightened that he actually would. "What do I say to her?"

Ram smiled crookedly, thinking about what could possibly happen to someone who spent eight straight hours holed up in a room with Stephanie. It sounded like a good time to him. "She isn't a congressional committee. Just talk to her like she's any other human being you know. Plus, Manny will be there and he'll no doubt say more than enough for the two of you."

A hint of queasiness came across in Vince's frown. "Is it going to be as bad as I think it is?"

"Nothing is ever as bad as you make it out to be," Ram sighed. _Seriously, what were they all so worried about? Ranger's approval?_ Stephanie was friendly. She wasn't hard to please and Ranger would do whatever she told him to do. As long as she survived her shift, whoever she was partnered with would be in the clear. "She does most of the talking, but without a skip to chase, it'll probably be a quiet night." That seemed to pacify Vince for the time being, but Ram noticed the uneasy way he was moving around the room as they worked and decided to grant him a bit more slack and understanding. "She talks more when she's nervous, so be nice."

"Right, so cruelty's a bad idea," Vince crabbed. "Any other pearls for me?"

"Be well rested," Ram continued, trying to be helpful. "Just in case."

"Uh-huh, that's a good tip; be ready for work when I show up for work. Thanks, I'll have to remember that one."

Damn. The man had refined bellyaching into an art form. Ram had been listening to him bitch on a regular basis since they were partnered up six months ago. And now he saw the glimmer of possible retribution in the near future. Maybe he could give Vince something to _really_ complain about. "Fine, that wasn't useful enough for you? She likes to talk guns. She's trying to get more comfortable with the subject, so don't be afraid to share your own wisdom with her. Tell her everything you know." He made a show of carefully considering Vince's problem. "Oh, and she likes dirty jokes, really off color stuff."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Vince sneered.

"It surprised me too," Ram gave a convincingly bewildered shrug. He wanted to laugh when he imagined the shift Vince would have to spend with Stephanie if he really fell for it. It would be one time when something was actually worse than even Vince was expecting it to be.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I made it through my trip to the range without attempting murder, but I certainly felt like it by the time I was done. I couldn't hit my marks to save my life. Ironic since that's exactly what I was supposed to be practicing to do. _God, I really hate my gun_. And that wasn't the only pebble I still had in my shoe that morning. I still couldn't kick the donut cravings. My mother managed to leave two messages on my machine about bringing Ranger to dinner _before_ I'd even returned from my morning run. What was I going to tell her now that he was back from Boston? _Shit. What was I going to tell him? _I couldn't get Heidi Stokes out of my head. I hated being told what to do and Tank was busy making it his new hobby. I had consumed a disturbing amount of organic, sugarless, peanut butter in the past few days, which I have decided I am now going to call my congressman about lobbying against. The stuff is just inhumane. It's a plague on society. And last but not least, my inbox was full again. Some guys named Pits and Bo kept filling it up with profile requests, most of them single, middle aged executives or attractive, young, undergrads. What were they doing in New York anyway, running a dating service? (Geez, that sounded like a bad television show from the seventies. _Pits and Bo, The Merry Men Matchmakers_. They would of course have hideous mustaches.) And making all of that paperwork even more time consuming and tedious than usual, the requests included not just background information, but also threat assessments and projections of behavioral patterns. It was all giving me some seriously creepy 'Big Brother' vibes and lingering tension headaches.

I'd lost the last of my morning cheer an hour previous and was bored and frustrated enough to be daydreaming about the fictional facial hair of men I had never met. So, I was officially in a foul mood and trying to hide the fact, from the cameras and the rest of the men, who I kept catching glancing in my direction. The control room floor was more placid today, but there seemed to be a low buzz in the building about something, the change in atmosphere no doubt due to Ranger's return to Haywood. I was working on the assessments and projections while the computer did its thing on the more simple searches. I kept working through my inbox, but was inserting some personal interest names in between every few work files that I finished. Heidi, for example, and her family, her ex-husband, her neighbors; they all got the quick once over. Nothing jumped out at me, but I'd go over it all more thoroughly later. And I searched Casper Truth again. He should be in the systems now. TPD would have entered something somewhere that had his name on it. But no luck. _How could that be?_ They've had a full day. Well, I'd just have to keep running it. He'd have to show up soon. _Right?_

I was getting restless. I could tell because my feet wouldn't stop tapping and I kept checking the clock. Plus, I was running to the break room every fifteen minutes, for coffee, a granola bar, bottled water, anything that would give me a minute out of my chair. I felt eyes on me again, but when I looked over, all of the men were diligently attentive to their own desks and screens. Junior was making calls, emitting a quiet, steady, professional murmur. Brett was on blinking light duty. Hector was at a desk with some very complicated schematics laid out in front of him. And Hal was typing away madly at some complex list of codes. He was like RangeMan's very own walking computer manual. So far it seemed that, while he was never on shift as supervisor in the control room, he was almost always there as unofficial lead, making sure that all the beeps, blips, and bytes ran smoothly. I watched him for a minute and wondered if computers had always been his specialty or if after he'd allowed me to leave the RangeMan building the day I was taken by the Slayers, all the hours he spent at monitor duty just naturally insinuated him into that position. However it was that it had come about, he usually had the answers to my technical, computer-y type questions.

This time when I walked over to him, he smiled gently instead of looking frightened. "Is there a way to put a search on repeat? If I have a file that I want to have the latest information about at all times, is there a way to have the search run automatically once or twice a day so that I don't have to keep doing it over and over again myself?"

"I could set something up for you." Hal spent the next twenty minutes showing me how to customize the search engines to fit my needs. But almost as soon as he was through, my feet were tapping again.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank spent the morning mentally replaying his conversation with Ranger. The more he thought about it the more he believed it had gone even worse than his lunch with Stephanie. Ric's reaction hadn't been too severe, but it was telling. _After all_, he asked himself, _how well did he actually know her?_ He knew Ric, and _Ric_ knew Stephanie. Hearing him talk about her from time to time didn't mean that he really knew her, and Ric hadn't exactly been encouraging when he found out about the offer. Tank still had no doubt that she was the right person for the job or that she belonged at RangeMan. But he was definitely starting to question the way he'd gone about hiring her. He'd been pushing her and testing her and making assumptions. This was a woman who had the mighty Manoso tied in knots, and now Tank was facing the fact that he'd jumped into the deep end of the Plum wave pool without bothering to check if there was a way back out to the shallow end. Tank wasn't used to being responsible for finding the way out. Or finding the way in for that matter. He wasn't lying when he told Ranger that he preferred to be second in command. He could handle the reins when Ranger went out of town, but he usually shared those responsibilities with Lester and sometimes Bobby. And he didn't enjoy it. But now he was 'Boss'… _of Stephanie Plum_.

He checked the clock one more time and finally gave in to his doubts, pulling up the feeds from the control room cameras on his monitors. Stephanie was still at her desk, but barely. She looked up from her work and surveyed the room looking jumpier than a whore at mass on Ash Wednesday. She was clicking her pen, drumming her fingers, playing with the cap on her water bottle, even biting her nails. It was encouraging that she was trying so hard. And he was impressed by the tall stack of files that she'd already plowed through. If she kept up at that rate, she'd run out of work soon. He knew that after that, keeping her there would be impossible. He kept an eye on her as she learned a few more things from Hal. He wanted to believe it was some form of proof that keeping her on desk wasn't a mistake, but now that he'd started second guessing himself, it was hard to stop. Tank checked the afternoon's assignments to find something for her to do before she rabbitted.

He glanced at her image on the screen one more time before turning it off and thought about Ranger's words. _Her indepe__n__dence_. This was a job and at work you do what your boss tells you to do. That has nothing to do with personal freedom. Shouldn't she be the one second guessing herself, wondering why it was so hard for her to follow an order, why she has trouble obeying rules that everyone else has to adhere to? He never had to spend time wondering how the other Rangemen were going to react to his commands. He was in charge and they did what he said. Period. Expecting anything more or less from Stephanie would be special treatment. So why couldn't he shake the feeling that somewhere along the way he might have crossed the line between relegation and manipulation? Was even _he_ too close to be objective about her?

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Bobby and Hector were in the equipment storage room sorting through colorful spools of wire and packages of camera-related gadgets, double checking the packs of equipment they'd need for their maintenance runs. They only had three sites to check today, but it was a bitch to forget anything and have to come back for it. Both men worked in silence until Lester made an appearance. He greeted each of them with a very masculine meeting of the hands and spoke in Spanish out of courtesy to Hector, not that Hector looked liked he would have cared either way. If you didn't already know him, you'd think from the amount of attention Hector was paying them that he didn't speak Spanish either.

Watching the other men work without lending a hand, Lester lounged against an opposite wall, his arms loosely crossed. With a roguish grin he asked Bobby, "so how are my girls?"

Bobby gave him a half smile in return. Lester was always giving him shit about his little sisters. He was used to it by now. Though if he thought for one second that Lester would ever actually touch any of them, then he'd rip his fucking head off. "They're managing to get along just fine without you."

"I know that's not true," Lester chuckled at his friend's cheek and replied with a dose of his own, "but I'll let you believe it."

Bobby voice was proud as he gave his updates, "Keely made the Dean's list at Emory and Moni's thinking about ROTC." With an affectionate chuckle he added, "Shawna's engaged again."

Lester melodramatically clutched his chest in mock grief and horror. "Has the woman no heart?" But he then sobered slightly, aware of the sore subject he might be breeching when he asked, "And Jan?"

Bobby's hands paused momentarily in their work but his quick breath was the only other outward sign that he was troubled in any way. "Hates her new high school and still has the bad attitude. A couple of fights last month, but mostly staying out of trouble."

Lester nodded, ready to change the subject again. "So, you bring me anything or what?"

"Sassy's gumbo. It's upstairs."

"Dammit, Brown!" He scowled a thuggish kind of pout. "You know Guzman's gonna pilfer."

Bobby ignored the protest; Sassy always made more than enough food to go around, even at RangeMan. "Was there something else you wanted, Santos?"

Lester shrugged. "Maybe some hushpuppies or cobbler would have been nice."

_Right, as if he'd share his mother's peach and plum cobbler with Lester_. Bobby didn't even dignify that with a response, but knew there was another reason for his friend's presense besides news of his grandmother's care package. He could see Lester had that look in his eye, like he was anticipating a bad reaction.

"Tank wants you to take Stephanie with today." _And he didn't want to have to tell you himself_, Lester added to himself mentally.

Hector actually glanced over at them when he heard. It was well known to the men who'd been at RangeMan for long enough that Bobby wasn't Stephanie's biggest fan, and Hector was one of them that'd been around long enough. Personally, he liked La Bombazita, but he was withholding judgment about the wisdom of having her come to work for them. Lester had heard all of Bobby's praises of, and numerous objections to, Stephanie more than once before. He could understand where Bobby was coming from; he had good reasons for his opinions. Still, Lester couldn't disagree with him more. On one regrettable occasion when he'd had a few more than his limit, he'd even declared that he thought she was 'the cat's pajamas.'

"He wants her learning more, but wants to start her off small. Just explain the process, give her an overview." Bobby didn't respond. He knew Lester was watching every detail of his reaction. "He's going to have her on regular shifts now," Lester pressed.

Bobby gave him a nod and confirmed, "I saw the schedule when I got in."

"He wants her full-time you know," Lester continued slowly as if each word was it's own question.

Bobby switched over into English to ask, "What did Ric say?" Lester's only answer was a raised brow. Bobby frowned and gave his head a shake. "Fine." He knew this was going to fuck with Ric's head. It was never ending with Stephanie. There was always something. "Is she ready to go? We're almost done here."

"I'll go find out," Lester said eagerly.

"Yeah, you do that."

"She's gonna be good for this place." Before leaving, Lester added one last, "You'll see."

"I guess we will," Bobby muttered and followed him with much less enthusiasm. Hector grabbed the last of the gear and followed as well, thinking to himself that if nothing else, at this afternoon would be interesting.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*008 : Uh Huh Her – Dreamer]<p>

** I know that many of you are hoping for the 'here comes the HEA, obligatory smut and declaration of love' moment between Ranger and Stephanie. I apologize if I disappoint and ask for your patience. I have this firm belief that relationships are complicated and messy and that the two of them have too much history and too many past mistakes for everything to just fall into place. I don't think anyone, especially Stephanie Plum, navagates life without stumbling along the way and her relationship (or lack thereof) with Ranger is no exception. **


	15. Chapter 15

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapte****r 15**

I felt bad about bothering Hal again, but I couldn't sit still and he was the person in the control room that I knew the best. I leaned my hip against the console where he was once again busy policing monitors of rotating collections of security feeds between bouts of rapid typing. Seriously, I don't know how they all aren't crossed-eyed or wearing coke-bottle spectacles from all of the monitor gazing they have to do. Ranger probably force feeds them carrots, apples, and other foods that 'do a body good' and make work horses salivate. At least they all look like it.

"What exactly does 'garage duty' mean?" I asked in a low voice, trying not to be overheard by the others.

Hal stared at me for a second like a deer in the headlamps. "Why?"

"Someone mentioned it…" I shrugged. That wasn't really a lie, more like a semi-fib.

He hesitated again before finally answering, "Garage duty isn't a regular shift. It's an 'as needed' post. There are always two or three men on call for garage duty."

_Okay, but what was it?_ "And garage duty means…" My brows climbed higher in a plea for explanation.

"Since we might need one at a moment's notice, Boss likes to keep the vehicles and garage in top condition at _all_ times."

I waved at him with a 'go on' gesture, signaling for some elaboration; it was like pulling teeth.

"So whenever anything," Hal fumbled his words, "you know," and even blushed slightly, "happens to one of them it gets taken care of immediately by the man on garage."

One more mystery solved. 'On-call garage duty' was what they called it when I destroyed another of Ranger's cars and one of his men was summoned to handle it while Ranger either swept me away from the scene or handed me the keys to a fresh, shiny, new vehicle. And now it was my turn. At least with me on Tank-imposed desk duty, garage duty would be an easier assignment than it used to be. "So then, if someone was on 'first call garage duty' it would mean what exactly? In detail… "

"He's the first person called upon to deal with a problem or anything that needs to get done in relation to the garage, the RangeMan fleet, or Ranger's personal vehicle's," Hal finished the thought for me.

"Did you say first call?" Brett craned back in his chair and asked from across the control room. I don't know how he heard it. Maybe the carrots give them ultrasonic hearing too.

"Yeah," I reluctantly admitted.

"Is there someone new assigned to first?" Brett asked with a wide grin. He sounded excited. Hal looked like he wanted to shush him.

"That's what I heard," I acceded. Again, not technically a lie.

"Finally!" Brett slapped his hand down on the arm of his chair. "I've been waiting for months for someone to mess up bad enough to bump me off the call list." He gave a relieved sigh. "Who is it?"

There was no way to half truth the answer this time and I knew from everything Hal had taught me so far that it was only a matter of several mouse clicks for him to find the answer anyway. "Me."

Brett's face crumpled. "I'm sure it's no reflection on you," he managed to stutter out with a panicked look. "Just a routine rookie assignment, you know?"

"Rookie?" I asked with a start and stood up from where I'd been lounging beside Hal. My name might not have been on the official roster, but I wasn't a damn _rookie_. Hal groaned and was trying to distance himself from our exchange. Brett was gaping like a goldfish. "I am not green," I told him. "I just screwed something up, and not even that badly at that. It sounds like that happens occasionally around here. So I'll take what I get just like anyone else would. I guess now I'm going to have to keep my phones on all the time. My mother will be thrilled."

I crossed my arms and finally noticed Brett's chastened expression. I regretted my nasty tone immediately. It was completely uncalled for. _Lordie, I'd been technically on the job there for what, a day and a half? Who was I to be questioning this guy and snapping at him?_ I was also a little ashamed of the tiny, answering thought that popped up, 'I'm the woman who gets off the elevator on the seventh floor, that's who.' My internal karmic retribution swiftly followed, and rightly so, with the deflating reality that I hadn't ever actually 'gotten off' on the seventh floor and had no immediate prospects in that regard. Not that I wouldn't be trying repreatedly in the future, but it _was_ becoming a rather baffling problem.

I headed back towards my desk, irked at the rookie comment and freshly reminded of my frustrating libidinal issues. I was in the middle of mentally reviewing a threat assessment I was working on for the owner of a swanky, Madison Ave. boutique who had a customer who was slightly _too_ loyal, when I heard my name and stopped short halfway across the room.

"Plum!" I looked up to find Bobby Brown and Hector Rios watching me from the other side of two open elevator doors. If the last time my name was shouted across the control room floor was any indication, nothing good was about to follow. Brown was holding the elevator, and surviving what I would have otherwise assumed was a fatal stink-eye from Lester. "You're coming with us." He stepped back into the elevator, as if what he'd said was enough of an explanation to _not_ entirely confuse me.

"But I'm supposed to – " I began, pointing towards my desk and the chair where my ass was supposed to be parked.

"Tank's orders," he declared like he was affirming gospel. "Report to the garage two minutes ago," was Brown's last remark as the elevator doors closed.

_Sigh_. I glanced over at Hal and Brett. They both just shrugged and turned back to their work. _Great._ Like I wasn't far enough out of my element already.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Ranger was sitting at his desk staring at Stephanie's handwriting on her reports of the Truth takedown. There were two lines that he kept reading over and over. 'Agent's Injuries: little finger, headache;' and 'Subject's Injuries: pride.' If she meant for that to be funny (which he didn't truly believe) she'd missed her mark. _Why didn't she tell me about Truth? Why didn't she tell me about starting full-time? Why didn't she tell me about being reprimanded? _[*009] He felt like he was losing his grip on even the most constant and sure things in his life. He needed to talk to her. Heading for the control room, he was at a loss for what to say or ask her once he got there.

Based on what Tank had said earlier, he'd expected her to be at her work in her cubbie. But when he looked she wasn't there. Making eye contact with Hal, he asked his question silently with a nod of his head in the direction of the empty desk.

"She's out in the field with Brown and Rios."

Ranger didn't reply. He headed straight for Tank's office.

Tank was surprised when his door swung open and revealed Ranger. He was almost always called into Ranger's office whenever he wanted to speak to him. "Did you send Stephanie out with Brown?"

"Yes," Tank answered bluntly. There was a moment of tense eye contact that demanded for more of an explanation from him. "He's going to have to get used to her. It's better he do it sooner rather than later."

Again, Ranger didn't reply. Both men had had enough discussion about Stephanie's employment for one day. He just gave his head a tiny shake and walked out of Tank's office. Ranger had spent years leading men; men who didn't get along, men who got along well enough to conspire against their CO, and even clueless men who had no idea what to do with themselves or each other. He knew that Tank had the best of intentions, but he'd chosen the worst of the worst candidates to cut his teeth as a commander. Stephanie wasn't a soldier. She wasn't a civilian. She had her own incomparable plane of existence. And if there was one man at RangeMan who could damage it, that man was Bobby Brown. He was uncompromising and honest in a way that wasn't just blunt; he could be downright brutal when he tried. And sometimes even when he didn't. Now she was out in the field with him and the only Rangeman who couldn't speak English. That was definitely not a direction Ranger would have taken with a diffcult job candidate whom they were essentially trying to woo into accepting a position.

But losing her as a job candidate didn't equal losing _her_. He had to keep telling himself that. She hadn't befriend him with intentions. She wasn't still with him because of ulterior motives. She was bigger and better than that. She was better than him. She was selfless and giving and even if she had an afternoon from hell it didn't mean that she'd leave. If anything, the resistance would push her even closer to defying it. The problem was that pushing Stephanie was dangerous. She had more blind courage than any team of professionals he could assemble. And it could destroy him like nothing else if she was hurt because that beautiful courage put her in harm's way.

Back in his office again, Ranger checked her little blip on the monitor. So far she was safe and he could relax for the time being.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Bobby was behind the wheel of a black, capped, four-door Silverado with the engine running. Hector stood beside the truck and even opened my door for me as I approached.

"Hola," I said, that being one of the few words I knew of Spanish. I knew seven. _Hola, adios, si, no, gracias, fuego_, and _sexual,_ and that last one wasn't really difficult since it was the same thing in English. With a Cuban accent, however, the word did have a certain extra – _shit, Steph, pay attention; he's talking to you_.

"Pareces que está bien hoy," he replied. [1]

"¿Gracias?" was all I could come up with to say back. He smiled and motioned towards the back seat of the truck, ushering me inside.

The ride to the Wilcox Office Plaza felt like an eternity longer than twice the trip would have felt in a car with Lula. It was _dead quiet_ most of the time. It was even worse than riding with Ranger when he was lost in his private little zone, because now there were also periodic murmurs in Spanish from the front seat. It sounded like they were discussing something technical and job-related, but it still made the drive uncomfortable to the point I was shifting in my seat often enough to have drawn Ranger's attention, and maybe even solicited a comment from him. But there was no notice forthcoming from either Bobby or Hector.

The silence continued when we arrived, Bobby heading off in the direction of some important looking offices and instructing me to stay with Hector. We stood at an awkward vigil beside the truck, Hector looking intimidating and me trying my best to look like a security professional. Maybe some of his clout would wear off on me. Is there such a thing as badass by association? I could probably make that work. I looked over at Hector. Would anyone who looked at the two of us really think we were associated with one another? I guessed that at least on that day they would, considering we were wearing matching outfits.

We were both momentarily distracted by a beautiful man leaving what was labeled 'Building C' and I spent a few minutes day-dreaming about whether his hips moved that rhythmically all of the time. I elbowed Hector beside me. "Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink." He smiled and furrowed his brow, but he did give a little laugh, so I think he got the idea and I was winning points with him. A girl can hope.

My attention returned to the front of the main building where I could just barely make out Bobby's figure through the safety glass. He was talking to a very buxom receptionist with a smile so bright it might have even drawn me in under its spell, but she had a certain way of leaning forward over her desk that made me think she rather enjoyed visits from RangeMan personnel. There was a lot of nodding and then a little paper signing, before Bobby was headed back out into our fresh, crisp, Trenton air.

"We'll start round back and work up from there," was his less than helpful beginning once he'd reached us. I still wasn't sure what we were even doing here. He said a whole lot more to Hector in Spanish and pulled equipment packs and a folding ladder that looked heavy enough to need a half dozen people to help lift, out of the back of the truck. Then he just turned and walked away with Hector and all of their things. I grabbed the heavy bag I'd been allocated and tried to keep up.

Bobby started talking again as he walked. "A RangeMan system is guaranteed with regular maintenance checks, anywhere from once a week to once every three months depending on the client's contract. This building complex has a mid-level system with maintenance every other month." We reached the service entrance at the back of the building and he and Hector began unfolding the ladder. "When we come out on site for maintenance, we're looking for anything physically wrong with the equipment. The computer checks are separate. We're checking for any damage done by weather, pests, like birds or squirrels, regular wear and tear, or, especially from tampering."

I held the ladder as Hector ascended and Bobby pulled a clipboard out of one of the bags. He kept talking as he ticked off boxes on the form he was reading. "If the camera's housing is worn or damaged in any way, it gets replaced. If the fittings are loose or damaged, they get replaced. If any of the glass components are scratched or damaged, it gets replaced. If there are any wires exposed or damaged, they get replaced. If there is any sign of rust or corrosion, the part gets replaced. If – "

"There is anything wrong with any part of the equipment, you replace it." I finished and rolled my eyes at my new RangeMan tutor.

Bobby looked at me blandly. "Yes." He said flatly. "I guess now you've got the hang of it. Don't let me keep you." Then he dismissed me with a wave of his hand and stepped away from us. He went on making marks on his papers, ignoring my presence entirely, apparently finished with his explanations.

_What? That's it? _Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut and listened. _Wince_. I spent the next thirty minutes silently following Hector around with a bag of replacement parts and holding the ladder for him whenever he needed to climb it. Bobby followed us filling out details on the maintenance schedule he had on his clipboard and taking what sounded like business phone calls. Then, during one of the phone calls I heard him say, 'mom' and he walked out of earshot to finish it.

"Is he always this grumpy?" I asked Hector. "I know that if I had to get off a flight and then immediately go to work, I wouldn't be happy about it either, but his ass seems more chapped than it ought to be, if you know what I mean?" Hector just blinked at me several times before smiling politely and turning back to the repairs he was making on a camera which had at some point become the gnarly nesting home to a family of Bobolinks. Ugh, working with the Rangemen had me so chatter-deprived I was trying to make small talk with Hector. I kind of missed Hal's geek-speak. He had more words than were necessary for any reason2, and he usually said them so fast I had to ask him to repeat himself. It was a little like talking to Connie.

"Plum!" Bobby shouted at me from where he was standing across the lot. "Since this complex has concourses," he pointed to the large glass enclosed walkway two stories above us, "you'll do all of the building's exteriors before moving inside to check the internal units. This is Rios' normal route, so listen to him, stay out of his way, and hand him anything he asks for. I will be with the truck by the time you're finished."

"Wait!" I shouted back, trying not to let _all_ of my panic show.

He looked back with an irritated glance over his shoulder. "What?"

"I can't speak Spanish," I explained.

"The word for screwdriver is destornillador," he replied and then turned and walked away again with his phone to his ear.

_Geez_, grumpy was an understatement. But on the very slender bright side, now I knew eight words. Plus, Hector was independent and professional. He needed very little assistance from me. So while the work was less than exciting, it wasn't difficult or tedious and the time passed quickly enough.

Later, in the truck during the drive between the jobs at Weinmüller Trust and Hobson & Sons Diamond Emporium, my phone rang three times before Bobby started shooting me annoyed glances. It was late afternoon and I knew from her morning messages that my mother was becoming less and less patient about my dinner plans. I eventually set the phone to vibrate, but after five more calls from various sources, Bobby finally said something that wasn't job-related or vaguely insulting. "Will you answer that damn phone already?"

"I've silenced it as much as I can without turning it off completely," I told him, checking the caller I.D. Yep. It was my mother. Again.

Bobby reached back and jerked the phone out of my hand. He inserted it into some sort of port in the front seat console and before I knew what was happening my mother's voice sounded out through the entire truck. "Stephanie Plum! This is your mother. Why haven't you been answering your phone? Your father and I are in hysterics." I knew she was lying. I've never seen my father so much as approach hysterics with a ten foot pole.

"Ma, I'm working," I answered, trying to keep my exasperation inaudible. "I can't be taking personal calls all day long."

She continued on as if she hadn't heard what I'd just said. "You have to take your Grandmother to a viewing in an hour. Hilliard Decker had an infarction and is being laid out at Missiano's this afternoon."

"Mom, I can't – "

"That Plonka man had his license taken away," she interrupted, "and Mabel was declared legally blind last month. You have to take her."

I sighed and tried to ignore the fact that this entire conversation was being overheard by my newest, and I suspected most ill-tempered, co-workers. "Call Val. She'll have to do it."

"Because of _that job_? No, no. She's a busy mother with a family to look after."

"I'm a busy person too. Call Aunt Trudy. She always had the hots for Hilliard. She'll be wanting to see him one last time." _God, I must be desperate to suggest that anyone call Aunt Trudy_.

"Your Aunt Trudy is with the Jesuits at Pleasant Groves. She isn't allowed to leave without a signed release from her psychotherapist."

By this point, I could already see Bobby and Hector both smiling via the rearview mirror. "I seriously do not even have the time to have this conversation right now."

"Well, someone has to do it! I'm not asking your father!" She was getting overly excited and so was I.

"Then you do it!" I snapped.

"With what car? The police have the Buick!"

"Ma, this really isn't a great time for this – "

She interupted me with a sudden change of topic, "are you bringing that Ranger man to dinner tonight or not?"

"Mom!" _Oh god, just kill me and make it snappy_.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Mrs. Plum," Bobby answered more calmly than I. _Damn, he sounded smooth_. "My name is Robert Brown and I work with your daughter at RangeMan Enterprises. Stephanie really is on a job at the moment, but I know that she will call you back at her soonest convenience. Right now we have to go. We have more work to do today."

"Oh, my!" That was my mother's version of bad language. Never a good sign.

"Yeah, ma," I replied testily. "I'm at work and you're on speaker phone."

I heard that same indignant squawk I'd heard the day before; the one she makes when she's not just angry, but offended. I wanted to tell my mother myself that she shouldn't worry and that I'd call her as soon as my shift ended, but Bobby hung up on her. _Did he have any clue the kind of torture to which he'd just sentenced me, and possibly Ranger too?_

There were few things that could make this situation worse, but Lady Fate figured out a way and made it happen. That bitch. Bobby had pressed the disconnect button on my mother at the exact moment we heard the call waiting tone. Connie's urgent voice sounded out as I was ripped from one ring of hell and plunged into the next. "You've got to come in and pick up some more files, because I don't know how much more of this I can take. Vinnie's about ready to shit enough bricks to build a whole new office himself." _Oh, please no._ This can't be happening. There was a pause over the line and then Connie asked, "Am I on speaker phone?"

Lula's excited voice was the next that we heard. "What'd you say girl? She got you on speaker over at 'Sexy Central'?"

I knew enough about Lula's language skills and active imagination to panic and I reached forward and yanked my phone out of the truck's speaker system at the same time I was being put on speaker phone over at the bond's office.

I heard Vinnie next. Even without the speaker phone, he would probably have been listening in to the entire call anyway with his ridiculous spy mics. That guy has a serious problem. I mean, come on, what gives? This was Trenton, New Jersey, not the Kremlin. What exactly did he think we could be planning out there? "Get over here and get some work done," he ordered, "or else I'm giving all of your files away. Even Lula's been doing more than you around here. I need at least one _full-time_ BEA! Not some unruly relative who decides to stop by every now and then expecting a paycheck!"

"I need the money and have the time," Joyce cooed. Her voice was even more grating over the phone than it was in person. "Give them to me, Vinnie," she said. "You know how good I am." _Oh, barf!_ What was she doing there anyway? Did he re-hire her too? And more importantly, what was she planning to do with _my files_ while listening in on _my phone call?_ The nerve of that woman!

I could hear Lula and Connie immediately begin protesting against that idea from somewhere in the background, but it was hard to make out the exact words. I'm pretty sure the word 'skank' was in there several times and I could have sworn I heard the sound of metal clash against metal. But my temper was flaring to heights that surpassed the use of weaponry. I'd had a long day, and it was only half over. With the mood I was in, Vinnie and Joyce were damn lucky that I wasn't there in person. "I bet you do need the cash," I shouted. "Antibiotics are expensive!" [*010]

I heard her voice on the line again when she clipped angrily, "you think you're such hot stuff now…"

But I didn't stop to hear it and spoke over her, "have you tried the free clinic off Route 1? The veterinarians there are really nice."

She spoke right over me in return. "You're just a poor, tired excuse for a…" she laughed wickedly, "well, if I believe your ex-husband, everything!"

I saw eight shades of hateful red and each one of them was on fire. "Oh, I'm sorry, Joyce!" I increased my volume even more. "I know that it's your job and all, but it just makes it impossible for me to understand you! If you've got something to say to me you'll just have to call me back later when you don't have anyone's dick in your mouth!" I hung up on them all and didn't know what to make of Bobby's laughter coming from the front seat.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Hal and Junior were taking their break in the lounge, checking the latest sports scores from several of the day's games. Hector stood in the back of the room, never one to be considered social even by RangeMan standards. They each gave a small nod in greeting when Colt joined them and settled at the table, their eyes never leaving the television screen. The Devils were losing one to three to the Flyers.

"Jersey doesn't have a prayer this season," Colt declared. Apparently he wasn't concerned about endearing himself to anyone. With as little time as he'd spent getting acquainted with the other men in Trenton, it wouldn't have been unreasonable to assume that he'd make a slightly more concerted effort to be friendly, especially when it concerned ice hockey in Jersey.

Junior spared him a glance, but didn't feel the need to reply. Hal didn't even glance.

Colt tried his luck with Hector. "Jersey no tiene ni la más mínima posibilidad de sacar adelante," [3] he said in a decidedly 'Texan Spanglish' accent.

That went over like a lead balloon. When Hector's stare didn't discourage Colt from patiently waiting for a reply, he was granted only a sedate, "¿y qué?"[4] Hector wasn't really a hockey fan.

Colt gave up on Hector and cut straight to the real reason he was there. He couldn't care less about the sports scores, but he had seen both Hal and Hector with Stephanie earlier that day. He wanted to know more about her. "I met the Plum woman yesterday," he said to no one in particular.

The word in Atlanta was that Ranger had a particular woman he liked to keep a very close eye on. She was _HOT_; a fiery temper, smoking body, nicknamed Bombshell, hell on cars, downright dangerous with a firearm, and if a man laid a finger on her he'd find out the true meaning of pain. Nothing he'd seen so far had technically contradicted any of it, but the details that were starting to fill in the blanks were confusing the shit out of him. For starters, he hadn't expected her to show up at their briefing in full RangeMan dress. Or for her to be on such friendly terms with Lester Santos of all people. Then the news hit him about the capture. Even more surprising than that was what happened once she had left the meeting. She'd been on his mind ever since.

"What's her story?" he asked. No one moved or responded, but Colt knew that he had their full attention. "She's new here right?"

Junior and Hal exchanged a look, but still didn't answer. Hector held onto the chilling stare he was giving Colt. An unspoken rule had evolved at RangeMan; _do not discuss Stephanie_. Of course they all did, but never socially, never openly, never in any situation where it might get back to Ranger. Over the years, she was the unspoken topic of countless knowing laughs, sighs, and groans exchanged between the Rangemen. She was a topic quietly debated between two men on an unbearably long stakeout or curiously speculated about by those assigned to Bombshell duty during periods of 'high Plum alert.' But outright gossip in the employee lounge with the new kid on campus? Never, ever, _ever_.

Impatient with what was now officially the cold shoulder, Colt egged them on, "Very new, based on the way she handled that meeting yesterday. You'd have thought she'd never been to a briefing before by what – "

Just then Junior experienced another inopportune 'white knight' moment and spoke up on Stephanie's behalf. "She's been around longer than I have."

Hal glared at him for being drawn in by Colt's postulating, but nevertheless, felt the pressure of his own obligations to add his support to Stephanie's defense. "She was here before me too."

Hector was annoyed with them both. He was one of the few men who did pre-date any mention of the name Stephanie Plum at RangeMan and that meant that he knew the full significance of it. In his opinion, it wasn't a good sign that the others were willing to bandy any mention of her with someone who was essentially still an unknown. He continued with his silent, threatening intimidation. The harsh look of disapproval on his face, now that the other men had spoken up, was almost enough to stop Colt from pushing any farther. Almost.

"Yeah?" Colt smirked with incredulity. "How long is that then?"

Hal couldn't say for sure because he didn't know for sure. He had a rough idea how long Tank had known her from some things he'd said or hinted in the past, but it was also generally known that Ranger had been working with her at Vinnie's even longer than that. In fact, several of the Rangemen had only ever known a 'post-Stephanie Plum' Ranger. "Years," he answered.

"There's a good chance she's been around longer than you've been with the company," Junior added.

Colt scoffed at the idea. "And she's only just now learning how to fill out her first reports?"

At that point, even Junior seemed pissed with himself for encouraging Colt's inquiries. That didn't stop him from doing it again, though. "When she's worked with RangeMan in the past it wasn't always official. She helped when we asked for it and vice versa. She wasn't sitting around filing reports."

Colt was looking satisfied with himself for getting even that small amount of information out of the secretive, protective men. He wondered how much more information he could manage to get before they put a stop to it. "I've heard some wild stories about her. How much of the legend is true?"

That was what did it for Hal. He'd had enough. He sat up straighter in his chair and fully faced Colt. "All of it and then some. Why all the questions?"

"Because she took over my case and made my capture." Colt chose to ignore the challenge in Hal's body language and keep the exchange as peaceful as possible, thinking he'd reached his luck's limit for the day. "I want to know who she really is."

Appalled that someone might question Stephanie's involvement at RangeMan or demand explanations, Junior didn't bother to hide his outrage. "Who she is doesn't concern you and unless you're assigned a job with her, the work she does isn't any of your business either. If you've got questions, ask the boss yourself."

Colt saw flashes in Hal and Junior of the same esteem for Plum that he'd found in Lester, Tank, and even in Cal, the day before. "What exactly is it about this chick that makes you all so hard?"

If they hadn't seen Hector move from his post in the back of the room, Hal and Junior would have made moves of their own. But when Hector advances, even Rangemen tense. He approached them slowly and leaned forward, palms on the tabletop, right up in Colt's face. With murder in his eye, he said in a deadly whisper, "Cuidado." [5] Then he stood and left the room, tired of this cabrón [6] and his porquería [7].

Hector's presence was replaced by a tense, hostile silence. Mercifully, it was ended by Hal, who was now convinced that Colt needed to learn his place in Trenton or else he'd eventually face steeper consequences then whispered threats. "Look, _you_ are the new guy here. So I'll throw you a bone. Do not make any assumptions. Shut up and learn. You do not want to be on Stephanie's bad side. Keep your distance unless you're invited closer. And if you do happen to get mixed up in anything with her, be ready. It's not something you can be trained for." Hal stalked angrily to the door, but paused one more time before leaving to turn and give Colt one last parting recommendation. "Oh, and if you can't handle getting shown up by Stephanie Plum, you should do yourself a favor; go ahead right now and book the next flight back to Atlanta."

Watching the door bang shut behind Hal, Colt was left with even more unanswered questions than he'd begun.

"That's good advice," Junior said as he shifted his attention back to the television, ignoring Colt's presence altogether.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Embarrassed by the very public phone calls that bordered on the ridiculous and her overall uselessness on the first field assignment she'd been given, Stephanie didn't want to return to the control room for more tedious desk work. She was hungry and tired from the morning's ordeals and her 'general duties' shift was about to end. Lagging behind the others, she was still in the garage. She stood between a company SUV and one of Ranger's luxury ass-cradlers, busy debating her next move, when she heard the door to the staircase swing open and a lively, "Hey, Beautiful," echo across the garage in a tone that she now recognized meant only one thing.

"Santos." She wasn't in a very smiley mood, but she smiled anyway. Lester just had that way about him.

"What's going on? You're lookin' a little lost there."

She didn't doubt it. "I was just thinking about doing something stupid," she confessed before she had long enough to reconsider it. For a moment Stephanie felt like she must be going crazy. She'd almost blabbed her semi-treasonous thoughts to one of the most loyal – one of the original and defining – Rangemen. But her 'Jersey Girl' need to give a man shit when she knew he had yet to learn the meaning of modesty won out over her desire to remain unnoticed. "What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be at the opera?"

Lester's smile widened. "She's working."

"So go get some dollar bills and keep her company," she quipped. Stephanie guessed that she was even more surprised at her gall than he was.

"Ouch, Plum. That stings."

Stephanie studied him for a pensive moment that drained all of the humor from their repartee.

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Are you really free tonight?"

Lester ignored the tiny flare of panic he felt hearing her ask him that question with such an intense expression and adopted an overly lecherous grin. "Depends on what you have in mind."

But she didn't smile back. Instead, she reached for her keys and Lester tensed uncomfortably as she scrambled the surveillance in the garage before abruptly stating, "I'm going to disobey an order from Tank. I want you to help me do it." [*011]

For a moment, Lester's eyes grew several sizes larger. "That's never a good idea," he said, unsure. "I would definitely consider that as doing something _very_ stupid."

"I have to get another look at Heidi's house and I need to do it now, tonight." Lester eyed her with an uncharacteristically sober regard that convinced her he was finally taking her seriously. "I'd rather not go over there alone," she explained, "which is why I'm talking to you."

"That's real touching, Bombshell. I'm flattered," he commented lightly, hoping to side step her suggestion and avoid addressing just how crazy she was for even considering it.

But Stephanie already knew she was crazy. She knew that it was stupid and wrong. She also knew that if it wasn't for Tank, she would have done it already and that anything she had found would have been greeted with proud smiles, not frowns and lectures. She held Lester's gaze and didn't back down. "This time I know I'm right. I tried to do things by the book and called in first, only to get shut down. Tank should have let me do it this morning."

There was an unusual note of authority in Stephanie's voice that made Lester want to believe her, obey her. He'd spent entire years of his life trusting Ranger and Tank to keep him in one breathing piece, and he thought that he'd probably spend the rest of his life that way. But Stephanie made him question them, and himself. "Did he specifically tell you not to go to her house?"

"No," she said and then bit her lip. "Not in those words. No."

"Stephanie," Lester sighed, weighing his options. He was wedged between the proverbial rock and hard place, standing on a marble floor beneath a canopy of barbed wire.

She didn't let his obvious reluctance diminish her determination. "So now I'm taking the initiative and doing what I should have done in the first place."

"You're going to need to put a _hell_ of a lot more positive spin on that if you want to get away with this level of stupidity." He still thought that she should know about Casper. If she did, she might reconsider whatever it was she was planning. But Tank was right; their hands were tied. On the other hand, she had just trusted him enough to tell him about this and if he didn't take advantage of that and help her, she was impulsive enough to do something about it on her own.

"Come on, Lester," she smiled prettily. "We both know you want to help me do this. You're just having trouble with all of the good reasons not to."

_Damn the woman_. She was more convincing than anyone had a right to be. "_Reason_ has nothing to do with the trouble I'm having right now."

"What does that mean, that you're coming with me or that you're going to tattle?"

He almost sighed again at his own weakness. "It's not that simple."

"Yes it is," she stated firmly. "I was in trouble for doing something without asking. I wasn't allowed to do anything when I did ask for permission. I was punished for flying solo. But when I call and ask for help from someone, I get denied. Tank has told me 'no' across the board and it doesn't make sense. How long have you been looking for this guy? Now I've gotten closer than anyone's ever been and he wants me to sit at my desk writing behavior projections for some banker on the Upper West Side? I can't do that."

"Steph, Casper Truth isn't just any other skip."

"Look, I don't get it, okay? Is this like fear of the unknown or something? Because no one knows anything about him but everyone seems to be so certain that he's the worst kind of bad news." She spread her hands out in front of her in an angry, frustrated gesture. "You do understand that the guy isn't actually paranormal, right?"

"He's dangerous."

"You think I don't know that? He had a fistful of my hair," she bit out as she demonstrated with a firm grip of her own. "I felt his breath on my neck and the weight of his body on top of me." The slight warble in her voice made Lester step closer. He reached out and put his hands on her upper arms in a comforting protective gesture when the mental image of Stephanie being overpowered and pinned down flashed in his mind. Her voice was stronger when she continued, "he was in my friend's home. Now there's no sign of her. Casper knows me, knows _personal details_ about my life, and Tank doesn't even want to let me sit in for the whole meeting? He expects me to spend my days checking for weather damage on camera housings?" Stephanie let her posture slump and relax enough that she was being partially supported by Lester's hands. "Les, I just can't do that."

He nearly cringed when he heard the quiet way she shortened his name, sounding so much like Vina once had years ago when she spoke that very same endearment. "The work we do isn't always our choice," he murmured in a hauntingly, muted tone that seemed to come from somewhere other than the present.

"I know all of the other parts of the job here are important work," she said, "and they have to get done. I'm going to do my share of it. But this thing with Casper isn't over. I can feel it. And I can't just wait and see, only to get blindsided again. For once, I've got the jump on the bad guy. I'm not about to while away my head start with menial tasks and paperwork. I have to do something."

Lester looked resigned and cheerless as he asked, "Is there any chance that I could convince you to let this go?"

"No."

He studied her strong, squared shoulders and the defiant lift of her chin and knew that resistance was futile. Even if he refused to help her now, he would change his mind later. He wouldn't be able to forget this conversation or bring himself to tell Tank what she was planning. He would wait and worry and wind up in as much, if not more, trouble than she would. "Alright, I'm in."

The honest, gentle smile and sigh of relief she gave warmed him in a way he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. That sound alone was enough to assure him that whatever happened, he wouldn't regret this.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Leaving RangeMan, I didn't have long before I was supposed to meet Lester, but I had enough time to stop by the office and answer Connie's impatient requests. I pulled up outside Vinnie's and saw Connie and Lula almost dislocate their necks to get a good look at Ranger's newest ride; a gleaming, mint, black, Cadillac SRX. Their interest quickly faded when they saw that it was just me and I was alone. As soon as I walked in the door, Connie was getting ready to walk out of it.

"I was only waiting for you," she immediately explained. "I have to go. I've got a date tonight."

"That'll be date number five with the chinless wonder," Lula said with her head stuck in a file cabinet and her more rotund end up in the air.

Connie shot Lula a glare that made me glad she kept her gun tucked away at the bottom of her desk. "You don't need a chin to have a tongue that makes a woman's toes curl."

"For some women that doesn't require a dick either, but I sure as hell have a better time when there's one around." Lula slammed the filing cabinet drawer shut and turned to me. "If she's leaving, then I'm leaving and we're closing up shop for the day."

Connie handed me the folder that was in her hand while she pushed in her desk chair and switched off the heaters. "We've had Augustus Oakenstaff for a while now. You need to get him quickly. Lula tried, but it didn't work out."

"He's got dogs," Lula protested with her hands on her hips. "Mean ass dogs."

Great. Maybe mandatory RangeMan back-up wasn't the worst thing in the world… I hope they all have their shots.

"These just came in today." Connie motioned towards a pile of file folders on her desk as she spoke. "Vinnie's getting real uptight about the cost of repairs here and he's been taking on skips like they're horny waterfowl."

"What?" I literally shouted when I saw the stack of files she was about to try and hand to me.

Connie was almost talking too fast to understand. She was busy packing up her purse one-handed and wasn't paying me any attention. "Donna Amici, Petunia Beethoven, Amber Calokis, Megan Dean, Margaret Dee, Gertrude Feines, Catherine Glass, Daniella Hootstein, Janet Lipinski, Jenna Mault, Zia Moore, Clementine Vaugier. They were all arrested for disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct, but three of them also have resisting arrest charges and Lipinski somehow managed to get written up for public urination, soliciting, destruction of property, and assaulting an officer." _How in the hell does she remember all of those details like that?_ I've had several desk jobs in the past and remembering every name on every paper that crossed my desk was never one of my priorities.

"Holy Mother of Crap, Connie!" I ran my finger along the labeled tabs. "Where did all of these come from?"

"Officer Picky busted up a ladies' night over at Chiseled." Chiseled was a strip club about twenty minutes out from city center. RangeMan was the only place in town that had more good-looking men than Chiseled, but the Rangemen didn't disrobe for cash. At least I assumed that they didn't. _Inadvertent Hot Flash Alert!_ "It was Suzy Fontana's bachelorette party," Connie explained. "He made almost twenty arrests that night."

"And what," I asked trying to lift so many files they wouldn't even fit in my bag, "they _all_ missed their court dates?"

"Just about," was Connie's preoccupied response. When she finally looked up at my appalled expression she added, "Hey, don't look at me like that. I made it to my court date."

"You were there?"

"It was one hell of a party. Suzy's got this weird thing for men with tan lines. Her sister was organizing it and requested that all the dancers go over to Michelle's beforehand and get that spray on stuff to give the effect that – "

"Hey!" Lula interrupted. "Why wasn't I there?

Connie wore a confused expression. "Do you know the Fontana's?"

"No."

She shrugged, clearly communicating 'well, that's why then.'

I think Lula was offended. "I coulda showed 'em what a good time looks like," she mumbled.

"And probably gotten us all sentenced to ninety days hard labor."

With my files collected and time pressing, I was also looking to get out of there as soon as possible. Connie was wearing long sleeves made of thick material and I know from years past that Lula could be comfortable in a bathing suit at the North Pole. I, on the hand, was still in my RangeMan uniform and the invading chill was about to work its way right into my bones. "How much longer until we get a proper door on this place?"

An irate shout from the back of the office answered me. "As long as it takes you to earn the money to pay for it!"

"Why don't you go out and pick up these women yourself if you're so worried about it?" I asked, motioning at the stack of paper that looked more like my RangeMan inbox than anything I'd ever seen at Vinnie's.

"Not everyone has as much time as you do to shop for shoes or binge on donuts or cop a feel with their boy-toy in the alley."

"Why you nasty little shit-tub…!" Never before in my life had I experienced a moment when I wished so ardently to have a rubber hose in my hand.

Connie stopped her date night preparations to glare in his direction. "Bitch, bitch, bitch. You're like a broken record."

"Bitch?" Vinnie appeared in the doorway to his office, looking stereotypically agitated, male, and Italian. "This is what I get for employing a gaggle of hens! Gossip, nail polish, and the kind of debt only a woman could cause."

Lula threw a stapler at him. "I'd shove my chicken foot up yo' ass except you'd enjoy it, you bird-loving pervert!"

"Go find my skips!" he shouted and slammed his door, making a much needed disappearance.

Lula walked over to Connie's phone and bent down to put her mouth as close as it'd get without having people question the propriety of her personal feelings towards office telecommunications equipment. "Go fall off a tall building!" she screamed into the microphone we all knew was hidden there.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Frank heard the door close and smiled to himself as the rumble of Mrs. Pethokoukis' Studebaker faded into the distance. [*012]

"She's gone," 'Elen sighed as she returned to the front room.

Frank Plum knew that years of life with this liberated-by-age version of Edna was as much of a trial for his wife as it was for him, probably more so. He got up from his chair and moved to the sofa, holding his arm up in invitation to his wife. It was rare that they ever had the house to themselves. She stood in the doorway with her arms folded, unamused. But he knew she'd give in.

She finally let her arms fall to her sides and smiled. "She'll be gone for a few hours at the very least," she said as she sat down beside him and he draped his arm over her shoulders. "Apparently Mr. Napolitano's viewing is going to be held right after Mr. Decker's and he had three very dapper younger brothers."

"What happened to Plonka?" Frank smiled entertaining the hope that the old man might be out of the picture for good.

"You don't care."

He laughed at his wife's answer. She was right. They sat in companionable silence watching television.

"Please change the channel." 'Elen didn't mind watching the news, but she knew that Frank wasn't actually interested in the new changes the city was making to the bus stations. He was only torturing himself this way. "Even if she gets hurt, it won't be on the television."

Frank's only protest was a grunt.

"Or if it is," she persisted, "it won't be until it's too late for you to do anything for her."

He changed the station with a sigh and finally settled on an old rerun of 'The Man from U.N.C.L.E.'

"Thank you."

"You always did like McCallum."

"Don't be petulant."

Frank gave another small grunt that 'Elen knew meant he was amused. He had as many grunts and grumbles as there were words in the English language. Thirty-eight years of marriage had taught her all of them.

"You shouldn't worry so much. I think she's safe enough, even in that building of hers."

Frank's answering grunt was incredulous.

"She has a new alarm system. Mother set it off when we visited. It's effective."

Frank smiled again at that image.

"And…" He heard 'Elen's hesitation and unconsciously rubbed the shoulder his hand was resting on in a comforting gesture. "I think that Ranger fellow is living with her."

His hand froze mid-caress. He took a few seconds to let the new information sink in, thinking back to the night he helped her move out of Joe's house and retrieve her personal things from the RangeMan building. 'Elen was prone to believe all kinds of gossip, especially things about Stephanie. But in his wife's defense, there were quite a few sensational rumors over the years that had turned out to be completely true. "Did she tell you that?" he asked.

"No," she said. He looked over at his wife and saw her chewing the inside of her cheek the way she always did during her mental debates. "Her kitchen was full of healthy food that she said he'd bought." Her eyes flickered up to his for a millisecond. "She told me that he shops and cooks." She decided to leave out the part about Stephanie's answering machine. Frank didn't need all the gory details.

"Well," he nodded noncommittally, "that does sound safer."

"Safer?" She sat back from her husband to look at him fully. "She's working for him now. She was wearing a gun in a holster when we were there because she had to go to a meeting."

"But you were just saying that – "

"What kind of woman needs a loaded gun and a live-in security professional?" she cut him off mid sentence.

"Tesora," [8] Frank sat forward and kissed his wife's forehead briefly, staying close and holding her gaze, "the kind that we raised."

It was 'Elen's turn to give a small discontented grunt as she gave up her protests and cuddled up next to Frank again. They could worry about Stephanie anytime. It wasn't as often that she and Frank had a whole Edna-free evening. Plus, she did really like David McCallum. His eyes weren't as blue as Frank's, but he was still pretty dreamy.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I felt that he was there before I'd even turned the key in the lock. My resulting smile was unrestrained and ultimately inevitable. "Hey there, Handsome," I called out as I opened the door. Then I headed over to Rex and dropped a few oyster crackers in his dish before turning to face the rest of my apartment. "Oh, Ranger," I said with mock surprise. "I didn't see you there. How's it going?"

Ranger's answering laugh only made me smile wider. He was sitting at my table behind a laptop, looking comfortable and productive. "Babe."

"I'm glad you're here," I said as I dropped my bag on the table and fished around inside. "I've got something you want to see." When I glanced up, I saw his smile get crooked in that ever so slight way that insinuated a whole variety of naughty things. "Oh, you can see those anytime you want, Batman. Just say the word and you can have a real good look." I rolled my eyes and pulled out the folder I'd been looking for. "This, however, is an offer that doesn't come up as often." I slid it over to him and waited. He held my gaze for a moment, his pupils dark with midnight promises that were warming me in some very pleasant places. But by this time, I was beginning to recognize the difference between flirty Ranger and wicked Ranger. He could flirt with the best and I'd never tire of it, but I knew from one night of fantasy-supplying memories that Ranger transformed wickedness into an Olympic sport. This was flirty Ranger. "I thought you might want to come with me when I go visit an old friend of ours."

He finally flipped open the file. He chuckled when he saw Lonnie Dodd's latest mug shot. He was balder and fatter than the last time we'd seen him, but he still looked just as impaired and dirty as he ever did. "Just name the time and place, Babe."

"Tomorrow morning." Ranger's smile faded when I continued, "Tank doesn't have me scheduled until the evening, so I have all morning and afternoon to grab some of Vinnie's skips and fortunately I also have an excuse to duck out of dinner at my parents'." I saw the disgruntled look he was sending me and assured him, "I'm taking Lula with me. I'll have back-up."

But that didn't change the serious glint in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me about the job?"

_Oh, geez_. "You mean the RangeMan Job offer from someone other than you?" I didn't really expect to avoid this conversation. Ranger has never once let me get away with playing dumb. He only nodded and waited for a real answer in that quietly patient way of his. "Why didn't Tank talk to you about it? He's supposed to be your partner isn't he?" Yeah, like deflecting onto Tank was going to work. 'Cause I'm _so good_ at diverting Ranger's attention. His gaze didn't falter and I knew that this time I wasn't getting out of this that easily. "I didn't know what to tell you. Then I was upset about Ram and… other things. Then you were out of town. Then we were in bed..." I actually thought for a moment that some more bedroom talk might help. But I was wrong.

"You had plenty of time to mention it if you'd wanted."

I shrugged lamely. "I didn't know what to say."

For the first time since I've known him, Ranger's silence spoke volumes to me.

I held back my sigh and sat down at the table across from him. "I wasn't sure I was going to accept and… well, I didn't understand why Tank wouldn't have told you. I still don't. I didn't even know that he was your full partner." I swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. It was time for some truth and I was terrified of all the things that might mean. "When you get right down to it Ranger, I don't know that much about you at all. And even if that isn't usually an issue for me, it doesn't mean I'd be comfortable working for you. And I know even less about Tank than I do about you. I don't even know his name."

When Ranger still didn't say anything I started getting really nervous. And that always loosens my lips, occasionally in very unproductive ways, which only works to make me more nervous. "I love RangeMan and I want to be a part of it, but it's not that simple. It's not like working at Cluck-In-A-Bucket. There's so much more to it than just a job. I understand that and I'm not sure that I'm right for it. What you guys do is so…" I didn't even know how to explain it. I teased Ranger about being Batman, but the Rangemen were _real life heroes_. How do you say that to someone without sounding like a sentimental idiot? "I just wasn't sure."

Ranger looked at me, searching my eyes. It threw me a little. He usually had ESP. This, however, seemed more like confusion. "Are you getting any closer to being sure now?"

"No," I admitted, with a guilt I couldn't comprehend. "I'm not." Why should I feel as if I'd done something wrong? I wasn't obligated to consult Ranger about my life. The decision to accept the position was mine alone. Everything I'd said was the truth. So why did I feel responsible for the downtrodden way he was looking at me?

He stood up from his seat and moved around the table to me. Pulling me up and into his arms, he held me close. He gently kissed me twice along my jaw and whispered in my ear. "Explain."

The tension that had been building in me drifted away at his touch. I looped my arms around his waist, rested my head against his shoulder, and tried to put my chaotic thoughts into words. "I don't know. I'm not used to being bossed around. Vinnie doesn't care about anything but his bottom line and I was in charge of my department at E.E. Martin. I hate it when people order me about, left and right. Having Tank tell me what to do all the time is making me jumpy." I tightened my arms around him as snuggly as I could. "Like I want to hit somebody."

Ranger peered down at me and let amusement creep ever so slightly into his eyes. It pissed me off.

"See! You're laughing." I gave him a gentle push and he let me go. "That's what I'm talking about. I'm having a lot of difficulty even considering all of this. I'm not interested in being the entertainment. How am I supposed to take this offer seriously when I know that I'm the comic relief? Security work isn't a joke, but most of the time my jobs turn out more like sideshows than successes."

"Babe." Ranger hadn't let go of me completely and now he was pulling me close again, "You understand that I'm human, don't you?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Of course I do. That other stuff I talk about is just – "

He cut me off before I could lose control of my ramble. "And sometimes I say and do stupid things."

That was a little harder to believe, but I had every reason to; Ranger's never lied to me before. "I guess I can understand that," I said. "I do stupid things all the time."

"While I might occasionally find you entertaining, you are _not_ entertainment." He was nudging me backwards, walking us away from the table until my back was pressed against the wall. "Far from it."

"Wait," I said, even though it was the last thing I wanted him to do. His hands were moving up my sides and his thumbs caressed my ribs brushing the bottom edges of my bra cups ever so slightly. "What does that mean?"

He was so close his lips grazed mine as he spoke. "Estás más asombrosa de sé cómo a hablar claro." And he kissed me, softly, deeply, so sweetly. My head spun.

"In English," I demanded as soon as I returned to reality. "Tell me in English." [*013]

When he heard my request I saw a tiny hint of fear in his eyes for only the second time ever. I didn't think he'd meant to say, whatever it was that he said, out loud.

"Please?" I asked again. "I want to understand."

His hand rose to cup my face and with his thumb still resting lightly at the corner of my lips he looked me in the eye and said, "You are more amazing than I know how to explain."

My heart skipped a beat and time stopped. I waited for him to smile or look away or kiss me or even move his hand. But he stood still as a statue.

"That's what you said?" I asked with disbelief. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to me. I leaned forward and grazed his cheek with my own. What he'd said to me was beautiful and I wanted to return it. I wanted his heart to skip the way mine had. "È più facile verso respirare quando sei tenuta me," I murmured. [9]

"Babe," Ranger whispered against my ear. "I can speak Italian."

"Damn it," I whispered and felt his smile against the side of my neck. "Is there anything you can't do?"

His arms tightened for a second in that ever so minor way they always did right before he was going to release me for good. "I can't stay much longer. I have a job tonight."

I was glad that I had the wall helping to keep me on my feet as he stepped back. I was still bowled over from his sweet words and kisses. I was probably going to be an absolute mess when it finely sank in what _I_ had said to _him_ and what his tender support implied about my future as a Rangeman. But for the moment, I was in denial-land and just enjoying what it felt like to see him in my apartment, blending so naturally with the bare walls and cheap furniture. He looked right at home. I wished the moment could have lasted longer.

"Well, that's alright, Higs," I said, recollecting my wits about me, "since I can't stay either."

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[1 - You look well today.] [2 - A big shout out to the super-awesome 'Hal's Word of the Day' from the PerfectlyPlum group] [3 - Jersey doesn't have a chance.] [4 - So what?] [5 - Be careful.] [6 - assholebastard] [7 - bullshit/nonsense] [8 - Treasure] [9 - It's easier to breathe when you're holding me.]  
>[*009 : Willie Nelson – What Was It You Wanted?] [*010 : Something Corporate – If U See Jordan] [*011 : The Offspring – Defy You] [*012 : Dean Martin – Little Green Apples (It's a little goofy, but I've always imagined that for Frank and Helen this was 'their song'.)] [*013 : Cat Power – I Found A Reason]<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

** A/N: Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers, Sophiepicklegirl in particular for your constructive feedback. I've made a change to future chapters in response. So now, to clarify a point about the citations... 1) _If preceded by an asterisk_, the note is _not essential_ to the story and can be read over or disregarded entirely. Those references will correspond to footnotes at the end of the chapter. 2) _If there is no asterisk_ and the citation refers to a translation of text in a foreign language, those notes will be located at the end of the scene, before the next POV/scene break. 3) If that system is still inconvenient and/or confusing, let me know and I'll try again to find a better way to format the chapters' notes. **

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter 16**

Stephanie stared at me and her eyes revealed a quick glimpse of her unreadble thoughts before she closed up again. "Well, that's alright, Higs," she said, her smile accepting but her tone reluctant, "since I can't stay either." She sidled around me and headed for the bathroom, plucking her purse off the table as she passed. "Lester is going to be here to pick me up soon, so I need to eat and change. I haven't had anything since my early almost-lunch with Hector." As she made her way across the apartment, she pulled her curls up into a knot on her head and began to shimmy out of her pants. "By the way, should I be calling him Rios? Is it like a thing you do at RangeMan to call each other by surnames or street names? 'Cause you introduced him to me as Hector, but we weren't at RangeMan then. And there aren't many of the guys who call me Stephanie. So I want to know how I should be addressing them. I mean, it doesn't really matter does it?"

_What was she on about now?_ She was rambling and I'd been staring at her ass instead of paying attention to the words. Her voice faded slightly as the sound of handbag zippers and the running faucet overtook it. I had to follow her, hovering in the doorway, in order to hear the rest.

"You know," she pondered lightly, "I think I might be spending too much time with you if I'm abstaining from sugar and every other of my favorite snack foods all day long and not even noticing. Hell, at this rate I'll be craving asparagus and soy beans by the end of next week and foraging for my snacks out of the bushes in the park."

I laughed at the picture that would make but couldn't avoid the minor discomfort those words provoked. She made getting more acquainted with my lifestyle sound like punishment. "What are you doing with Santos?" I asked, glad that the question sounded more casual than I felt. She seemed nervous for some reason and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

"Oh, you know, the usual," she said, "hunting fugitives from justice, fighting crime, protecting the innocent." [*014]

"There's nothing innocent about him and he told me that his plans tonight were 'recreational.' I hadn't thought it involved you." I didn't mean for that to be a question, but somehow it sounded like one anyway.

"I know. He told me the same thing," she said in an overly conversational tone that had me taking special notice. "That's why as I left, I made the time to stop and tease him when I saw that he was still in the building. For someone with the day off, he was spending an awful lot of time at work." I was leaning against the door jamb, watching her put on lip gloss (_for Santos?_) and I couldn't take my eyes off her lips as she continued, "I asked if he'd mind tagging along with me tonight since his new French mistress is otherwise occupied. I figured he might like to do something other than dream about her and touch himself."

"Babe," I cringed. The idea of _My Babe_ thinking about Lester touching himself was giving me a flare up of jealous machismo I didn't usually like to put on display. Especially in front of Stephanie.

She sighed and her shoulders fell the tiniest bit. "Tank has been on my case about having back-up and notifying people about my whereabouts." She finished swiping her eyelashes and tucked the tube of mascara back into her bag. She turned to me and leaned against the sink as she pulled her wide comb through her hair. "Lester's a clown, but even on his night off he still counts as back-up, right?"

I couldn't argue with her about that or anything else. I just loved watching her move; the stray curls that fell out of her loose bun when she bent over the sink, the way her thin, delicate fingers rifled through her cosmetics bag, the smooth line of her neck and prominence of her chest as she threw her head back to gargle. I loved that she _allowed_ me to watch her preparations. There were never closed doors between us. Not even the bathroom. I've never known anyone, specifically women, who trusted and welcomed me into their existence so fully for so little reason. She glanced up at the mirror with a sly smirk at me and my barefaced scrutiny and I finally managed to voice a coherent thought. "Try not to break him."

Her brow wrinkled but I could see that she was fighting off a smile. "I should be insulted."

I gave a half smile of my own and I reached out to pull her towards me by the waist of her RangeMan shirt. "But you aren't." I kissed those freshly glossed lips. She tasted like peppermint and coffee and I wanted to throw her over my shoulder, take her into the next room, and make a true meal out of her. The soft flesh beneath my roaming hands and the sound of her resulting moan had me fighting every natural instinct I'd developed since puberty. I forced myself to come up for air and groaned as I felt her hot breath and lips on my neck.

"No. I'm too turned on and half-dressed to care about anything you say right now."

"Babe."

She kissed her way down the front of my throat. "Hmm? Did you say something?" she asked as her hands found their way inside my shirt.

_I should stop this. I never should have started it in the first place._ "Stephanie," I said, aiming for a warning tone, but making a sound more like a moan than a reproof. _Oh God, now she was…_

"I'm sorry I didn't catch that," she practically panted into my skin as she leaned into me, pressing my back firmly agaisnt the door behind me. Her voice was getting far too heated and her hands much too insistent, "but it doesn't matter because if it wasn't; 'Cancel your plans; stay home instead and fuck me 'til I can't see straight,' then I don't need you to repeat it. I don't want to hear it anyway."

_¡Espíritu Santo! _[1] If it wasn't for the pounding knock on her door that began the very next second, I might have obliged and blinded us both.

"Yo, Bombshell," Lester shouted from the hallway outside her apartment, "you ready to party?"

"God, I am so ready," she whispered and gently, just barely, flicked my earlobe with the tip of her tongue.

My only responses were a shudder and another low, short groan. I couldn't have formed words even if I could have managed to think about anything other than the way it would have felt to slowly peel her clothes off. We stood frozen, but breathing heavily against each other. I was afraid one more moment of friction might make me forget about Santos and the rest of the world.

But Lester has never been easy to ignore. "Come on, Beautiful," there was melodic laughter in his voice, "don't leave me hangin'. I can't get through the new alarm without setting off the Bat Signal. You're going to have to come open the door for me."

[1 - Holy Spirit/Ghost!]

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"What took you so long?" Lester inquired when he heard the locks click free and the doorknob turn. "Were you naked?" His smile disappeared as soon as the door opened and he was confronted with not a leggy, lady, bounty hunter, but a very stern, Cuban mercenary.

"No. I wasn't."

But that answer brought back Lester's gorgeous grin in a hurry. "If wishes were kisses…"

Ranger ignored that infuriating comment and his smile. He gave Lester a shove back and stepped out into the hall with him. "She isn't ready yet." He handed him a wad of bills. "Go get her some Pino's."

Lester took the money and laughed, "You know, Ric, you're going to have to learn how to share."

For that unsolicited observation, he received a fist to the shoulder, pinning him to the opposite wall. "Hands to yourself, Santos," Ranger said though clenched teeth.

"Hey," Lester held his hands out to his sides in a show of contrition. "If she's going to be working with us, then she's going to be spending time around us. That's got nothing to do with me. That's just a fact."

But Ranger knew better than to accept that answer. "Do you understand or do you need another _Venezuelan_ reminder?"

"Gimme a break. JCET was years ago and I apologized for that at the time. When are you gonna let it go?"

"When are you going to learn a lesson?"

"Today, I guess," Lester rolled his eyes.

They shared an ESP moment and Ranger finally stepped back. "You're read up on her file?"

"Duh." When Ranger still stared forcefully at him, Lester enumerated, "some new mystery stalker, Casper Truth, threats from Eigel, a recent experience with a casket that's probably going to haunt her for a while. I get it, Ric. I'll watch her back." Ranger's posture finally relaxed a bit. But as Lester was entering the stairwell to leave, once again he couldn't resist poking the bear. "I know the rules. Look, but don't touch."

"Santos!" But he was already gone, in almost as wizardly a fashion as Ranger.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I had almost finished changing into dark jeans and a fitted indigo sweater (I wanted to look like a normal person if I was going to be sneaking around private properties later) when Ranger came back from answering the door. I'd expected him to let Lester in and maybe even leave himself, so I did jump slightly when I caught his figure in the doorway, watching me pull my sweater down.

"He'll be back in twenty. I sent him to Pino's. I want to talk to you."

_Yum_. And _uh-oh_. I hoped he didn't want to quiz me about the details of my plans for the evening. It wouldn't take much for him to get the truth out of me and then put the kibosh on the entire thing. I brushed past him on my way back out to the living room and said, "We have been talking." A lot more than usual, truth be told. That tended to happen when people started spending more time with each other…

"About the new artwork you were sent." _Okay. Now I had an idea where he might be going with this._ "We didn't get anything off the photo. Tank said you recognized it? Anything significant pop out at you. Anything at all?"

"I recognized where we were," I said as I finished packing my purse up for my upcoming night out and stashing my gun in it, "but I'd never seen the photo before. I don't know who took it or where it came from."

"No new threatening skips? Confrontations? Grudges? Nothing and no one that comes to mind?" Ranger was watching me closely and I hoped approving of the fact I'd included a loaded, safety-ed S&W next to my car keys.

"I would have already told you if there were," I said. He looked doubtful and my hand went to my hip in minor frustration. "I know how you feel about that stuff. I would have told you. Or at the very least, I'd have mentioned it to Tank." I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture that sort of made him look like he wanted to stare at me with his own hands on his hips. "I think he might be even more uptight than you are."

"And the back. The print?"

"Stumps me." I rolled my eyes. Like I had a database to check or something? That was his deal, not mine. Well, I guess Tank was trying to make it my deal, but only someone who was affiliated in some way with constitutionally sketchy portions of the government might ever have awareness of or access to _infant_ fingerprints. And that certainly wasn't me. "All I can tell you is that it's seriously messed up."

Ranger had been staring at me, but he looked away as he asked, "What does Morelli say?"

"Nothing," I answered. He looked back at me then questioningly. "He doesn't know about it. We didn't call the cops." Ranger was quiet for long enough that I was wondering if he thought not telling Morelli had been a mistake. "Do you think it's a threat against him instead of me? Because having that in my apartment doesn't scream typical stalker to me, unless you consider the fact that it makes _me_ look like some crazy ex-girlfriend destroying old photos. And these days I just don't have the kind of time that's required to be a stalker."

He walked towards me. "I want you to be careful tonight."

"Hey, maybe it's just Casper?" I lifted my shoulders.

"Babe," his voice sounded a tad strained, "that would not make this better." He kissed me slowly, lingering, like he needed to taste me to breathe. I know in that moment, like so many others, I needed him. One arm moved to pull me against him with a hand splayed in the center of my back between my shoulder blades. His other hand drifted lower to the back of my hip, his forearm settling across the small of my back and pressing our bodies more completely together. He was crushing me to him so tightly, so firmly, it was almost painful. This kiss was so different from the others. We stood and kissed like that for long minutes, both of us unsteady when he finally loosened his hold. I leaned back and felt the mild beginnings of panic as I recognized his expression. This was almost the same way he looked outside of Stiva's house. This was the Ranger who was lost somewhere I couldn't follow. "What's wrong?" I asked, still breathless, and cradled his cheek in my palm. [*015]

His voice was low and gravelly. "Too many close calls," he explained. He pulled me close again and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I heard his strained whisper against my skin, "Babe."

Understanding hit me like a bullet. He had left town and while he was gone, I had another dangerous confrontation. I ran my fingers through his hair, lifting his head up to look him in the eye. "This last round really did a number on you, didn't it?" I walked Ranger backwards towards the sofa and gave him a push down onto it just like I'd done that night. Then I climbed into his lap, straddling him and curling myself against his chest, like a living security blanket. Our arms reached around each other and I rested my head on his shoulder. "I'm still here with you and I'm not going anywhere." His hands moved slowly and continuously, up and down my back, through my hair, from my hip to my knee and back again. He needed physical reassurance in a way I'd never known. We both tightened our embrace even further. "I'm going to stay with you. Believe it." We sat like that, simply savoring each other's presence, until I felt him begin to relax beneath me. I gave him a quick kiss and rested my forehead against his. "I'm right here."

Eyes flashing dangerously, his hand flew to the back of my head and brought my mouth crashing back down to his in a bruising kiss, forceful and desperate. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't comforting or reassuring. This kiss was a burning hunger for something I wasn't sure I could ever satisfy. My head swam and I couldn't breathe. He devoured my ability to do anything other than surrender to it. When we finally broke apart, I could feel his hot lips against my cheek. "Don't do it again." It sounded more like a plea than an order.

I sat back to look him full in the face. This felt so wrong. Ranger couldn't lose it every time I got hurt or had a close call. It happened too often. "I can tell you that I'll be careful. I can vow to carry my gun and know how to use it. I promise that I'll do everything I can to get as good at my job as I possibly can be. But Ranger," I brushed a few stray strands of hair from his face, "I cannot promise that there won't be another lunatic behind the next door I knock on. No one can. You taught me that. It's part of what we do. I'm finally starting to understand that myself."

His eyes shut for a split second. When they reopened he had regained most of his usual focus. He was looking more like himself already. "I know." His grip on my hips tightened in a way that felt more like frustration than possessiveness. "I don't want you anywhere near Casper Truth ever again."

If there was anything that could convince me that Casper was more threatening than I'd imagined, it was Ranger's reaction to even my brief encounter with him. But that still bothered me. Why did they all insist on dictating to me about something that only I had experienced? I was the one who had been there, not them. "I don't want him anywhere near me either," I told Ranger shortly.

"Stay away from him."

I tried to fight the irritation his order sparked; I wanted to cut him some slack since he wasn't acting like himself. "I'm not really the issue anymore though, am I?" I pushed myself off of his lap, only hindered for a moment by Ranger's reluctance to let go. "He knows who I am and where I work. He held my business card. He knows what I look like, the sound of my voice, and that I'll fight back when attacked. He knows that I'm right handed, the kind of gun I carry, and that I'm not afraid to fire it at him. He knows that _I know_ Heidi and that _I know_ him, and what _he_ looks like, and the sound of _his_ voice. He knows I have his picture. And ever since he woke up at the station that night, I'm fairly certain that I'm his least favorite person in the world. There's nothing I can do to ensure that I'll never have to tangle with Casper again."

"I'll handle that end of it."

I stood opposite him and crossed my arms. "I can understand why you would think that you could." Ranger and I stared at each other for a surreal moment. I had just voiced doubts about him and his ability to protect me. "Who is he anyway?" I asked. "Can you tell me, or is it super-duper, ultra, top secret? And if I do see him again, can I shoot him?"

"Come here." Ranger reached out for my hand and pulled me back to him.

Tucked against his side with his arm around me, I ran my hand back and forth, low across his stomach and relished the feeling as his muscles jumped and tightened at my touch. "Ranger," I kept my hand in motion as I spoke, "this time I need to know." He watched my hand without answering. "It's too late to wave me off of this one. I'm already in it." I slid the tips of my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and repeated the motion against his bare skin, adding to the effect as I lightly brushed his dusting of soft hairs. "Who is he?"

He put his hand over mine to halt its progress. "I don't know."

_A claim of ignorance from Ranger?_ That was either a fib, or Satan had just picked Ted Bundy to be on his team for the big snowball fight. "Then why are you so – ?"

"Because," he interrupted as he pulled my hand away from his abs and dropped a small kiss on my palm before folding his fingers through mine, capturing my hand for himself since I wouldn't keep it to myself, "I know enough."

"That's not an answer." We both watched our hands tangle lazily with one another. "Enough about what?"

"Babe," he seemed to consider his words very carefully. I think he was trying to figure out how to explain it to me without actually telling me anything. "We all have a short list of people from our pasts that we never want to run into again. It's unfinished business. It's complicated and dangerous and ugly…" he paused for a moment and I thought that maybe he was finished, until he added quietly, "and you don't know which you want more, for it all to just fade from memory or to figure out a way to put a definitive end to it and find some form of closure. The only absolute is that you don't want these people anywhere near your home or the important people in your life." Ranger finally looked me full in the face. "Casper Truth isn't on my list. He's on Tank's. With honorable mention on Lester's."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Casper looked over at the other men in his holding cell. It was starting to fill up with some very fragrant felons. "Any of you know a woman by the name Plum?"

A fat man on a cot, clear on the other side of the cell looked up at her name and slurred, "That woman'll give you a real headache."

Then a much younger, but less inebriated thug spoke up. "And she hangs 'round with them serious mother fuckers. You don't wanna to know 'em."

"Is that right?" Casper sat up. "What do _you_ know about them?" Casper smiled as the thug proved that he didn't know enough to keep his mouth shut.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"So this isn't about you?" I was confused. If this wasn't about Ranger then maybe the whole 'babe' thing was a coincidence... "Casper isn't after you or RangeMan in general?"

"There's no reason he would be."

Then the reality of what he was saying began to settle in and it frightened me. "He's here for Tank and Lester?" God, I hoped his answer was 'yes' and then I hated myself for that thought. But if the answer was 'no' again, it meant that he might be in Trenton for something pertaining to me.

"I have no idea," Ranger confessed, "but it wouldn't surprise me."

"And what about Cal and Colt?"

Ranger glanced down at me with mild surprise when I mentioned Colt. "They're good at what they do. Cal is an analyst. He catches things that other people miss. Colt's specialty is tracking. If you can't find who or what you're looking for, he's the man you'd want to get for the job. Having the four of them together on a file is kind of like hiring you to handle the case."

Well, that was awfully sweet… and exceedingly hyperbolic. "Colt didn't seem to like me very much. I think I might have inadvertently stolen his thunder."

"You don't need his; you have your own."

If he didn't stop looking at me that way and saying things like that, I was going to have to club him over the head and drag him to bed like an ancient Amazonian cavewoman. I pulled myself away and made for the kitchen. I needed something fatty or salty to eat and Lester was taking too long. "So, if Truth is a real life man of mystery, if everyone is generally clueless about him, why is RangeMan looking for him?"

Ranger followed me. "Tank has his reasons. He can't explain them, not even to me. But if Truth is in Trenton and anything like the men on my list, then he's a problem that needs to be dealt with."

I tried to sound nonchalant as I asked around a mouthful of bagel and Neufchâtel, "So, how worried is RangeMan about your list?"

"It isn't," he declared. Well maybe not, but someone was. _I was_. I wondered if he had any idea how much the extra effort he was putting into making himself unreadable was telling me about just how serious of a _something_ there was for me to actually worry about. Ranger was quiet for a minute while he studied my face. "How did you even get the cuffs on him in the first place?"

I had to avert my eyes while I considered what to tell him. RangeMan reports, I'd found out, were factual. They were about the sequence of events, the actions you took, and the results of those actions. The little details weren't included unless they were crucial to understanding the incident. The report was never the whole story, and as I wrote mine the other day I'd been glad for that. If there was anyone that I would ever tell the whole story to, it'd be Ranger, just to see him smile, but really I didn't even want to explain it to _him_. Ranger was trying to change the subject and I wanted to know why. "I aimed a loaded weapon at him," I said. Ranger waited, blank faced, for me to give him a serious answer. "I told him to get on the ground with his hands behind his back, just like I would have with anyone else. Why can't you tell me more about your short list?"

He ignored my question and persisted, "You want me to believe that you just asked him and he complied?"

"I didn't ask. I ordered. And yes, he complied. Why wouldn't he? It's not like it mattered. He knew that he could slip out of them. Now, just _one time_, answer _my_ question." We were both rescued from further explanation and the impending staring contest by the sound of the elevator ding in the hall and the wafting aroma of meatballs and garlic bread.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"It doesn't matter what we think he did if we don't have any evidence. We can't hold someone because he looks shady." The detective division of the Trenton Police Department was too busy to waste their time on go-nowhere cases. They already had more than their share of unsolved crimes to investigate. Casper Truth was a non-priority.

"I'm telling you, there's more to this," Maglio insisted, fed up with his new partner's protests.

Robin Russell rolled her eyes at him. "Everyone knows that, but it doesn't mean that the judge will listen to a word we say."

"Well, let's forget about the woman for just a second and focus on proving that he's lied to us. That should give us some more time to put together something substantial on him. If we back him into a tight enough corner, he'll start talking."

"His name should be enough to prove falsehood," Robin claimed snarkily. "No woman would name her kid Casper."

"Wisecracks certainly aren't going to help," he snapped.

"You need to call the D.A. There's only so much more we can do and time is running out."

"If we could just talk to Stokes it would help."

She sighed, "Yeah, having witnesses usually does."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Lester's 911 Targa was the same shade of green as his eyes. He was wearing superbly fitted blue jeans and a navy blue button down that he'd left casually untucked, most likely to hide several deadly weapons. [*016] He didn't come close to Ranger, but he looked even better standing next to his car than Tank had. "I thought Porsche's were Ranger's thing," I smirked.

"Hey," Lester breathed a laugh with mock indignation, "he doesn't have a monopoly on sexy."

"Could have fooled me," I said as I opened the driver's door to the SRX. "You know, Les, I'd love to go for a ride with you, but usually when I'm planning an evening of B&E, I try to stay as inconspicuous as possible." I gestured toward the Targa, "if you drive that thing around this neighborhood every woman's going to let her pot roast burn." I slipped into my seat and looked again from Lester to his car. He was considerably tall, broad, and muscled, and that was a very small and sporty coupe. "I'm surprised you fit inside it." His eyes sparkled and his smile widened. I could already hear the lewd comments without his assistance. "Whatever it is, don't say it."

He laughed, closed my door, and leaned down smiling into my open window. "You've got a filthy mind."

"Two peas in a pod, I guess," and motioned to the passenger seat. "Get in."

He jogged around and hopped in the SRX. "So where are we headed?"

"To Heidi's." I looked at him as I started the car. She lived close enough that we didn't really need to drive over there, but my new safety-conscious outlook had me thinking that a Rangelady would be prepared for all contingencies. She'd make sure that she had a getaway vehicle for a B&E escapade. "Did you think I'd change my mind?"

Lester shrugged. "I'd sort of hoped."

"Have you changed yours?" I asked with a tiny drop of dread. If he was going to back out of this now I was going to find an expedient way to make him regret it. "Because if you have had a change of heart, you could have chosen a better time to bring it up."

"I said I'm in; I'm in."

"Good."

He just smiled that maddening smile. "This is going to end badly for at least one of us."

"Have a little faith. It could be fun." I pulled out of my lot, checking out Lester's parking karma. I hoped that if I eventually got better at my job, that would be a RangeMan perk I'd get to take part in. "Just think Les, we might get arrested or shot. Maybe both. That's right up your alley, isn't it? It'll be good times."

"I'm sure it will be," he answered, distractedly. As soon as we were moving, Lester's eyes were on guard. Sometimes he was so laid-back I forgot he was one of those hyper vigilant, super-good-at-what-he-does, Special Forces guys. "It's the aftermath that's going to suck."

"Do you say that because of Tank and Ranger, or because of Casper?"

"All of the above."

Now that I knew Lester had some kind of past experience with Casper Truth, I was less curious about why he'd agreed to help me with such little protest. And it gave more weight to his warnings about Casper being dangerous. But it brought up all manner of other questions about how much he really did know and why it was so highly classified that even Ranger was out of the loop. I'd been spending a lot of my time thinking about everything that had happened and what role I played in all of it. Casper was fast, strong, smart, and I was positive that he had an agenda. I was burning with curiosity about his behavior that night. Since he knew who I was and still answered the door, I had to assume that he didn't think of me as a threat. So what had he been thinking? If he wanted something from me, he could have just overpowered me and pulled me into the house as soon as he opened the door. So why didn't he? Did Lester and Tank have the answer to that one? I wanted to quiz Lester like crazy about his 'short list' and ask him all of those questions that Ranger didn't have the answers to, but in the end I settled on a simple, "Your past encounters with Truth, did you ever talk to him?"

Lester was slightly taken aback. I'd surprised him enough to pull him out of his version of the 'RangeMan awareness zone'. Based on his reaction, I was fairly sure that I wasn't supposed to know he had a past with Casper. "No," he said.

"Well, I did. And I'm not so worried about him."

"You're lying," he stated with firm certainty.

The strange thing was, I _wasn't_ lying. Casper was scary, but not Ramirez or Abruzzi scary. Whatever he did or didn't want, he wasn't a cuckoo bird with an evil streak like they had been. He definitely had something specific in mind but it wasn't the kind of thing you see in horror films. While I was positive that he was capable of doing evil, he didn't strike me as the kind of man who would be evil just for the hell of it or because he enjoyed it. "You can believe me or not, but I've been giving it a lot of thought and I've decided that I have zero doubt; my life wasn't in imminent danger from him. Not until I took a shot at him and threatened _his_ life. After that, he was just fighting back."

"What _exactly_ did you threaten to do?" he asked slowly, like he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"To shoot him in the head and leave him there bleeding for the police to find."

"Oh shit, Bombshell!" Lester winced, took several deep, ragged breaths, and dragged his hand over his face as he heard that. There was a sadness in his gaze that I had an urge to soothe as his eyes slid to meet mine. "Everything about the man is malicious, violent, devious," he groaned. "Managing to fool you only proves it."

"He didn't fool me and he wasn't going to kill me. Use me, hurt me, torture me; sure maybe, as means to an end. I'll grant that those were possibilities and they do make me nervous."

He turned sideways in his seat to face me and leaned backwards, putting distance between us as if he'd just watched me fight my way out a straight jacket and he wanted to be out of arm's reach. "But you aren't really worried about them?"

"I'm not sure what he wanted, but it wasn't to kill me. If he wanted to, he would have. He could have." God, saying it aloud finally impressed upon me just how close I'd come to my own demise. I could have met my end that night, alone and out of the blue. If there was ever a good reason to take a trip to denial land, I'd just found it. "Of course, you're a different story. I have no idea how he feels about you."

"I have some ideas of my own about him," Lester said, atypically serious and cryptic.

"Look," I said as we pulled up into the Yarn Depot's lot and I cut the engine. "I gave Tank the whole, 'Yes, Boss' routine because I _did_ leave that night without telling anyone where I was going, but I want you to know that I didn't screw this up. I've known Heidi for years. She and her family are not dangerous. I was just going over there to talk to an old friend. I figured we'd chat for a while and have an 'International Coffees' moment and that would be that. No need for a body guard. There was no way that anyone could have known he'd be there." I swallowed the sour taste of bad memories as I spoke and wondered who I was trying to convince more, Lester or myself. "Once he opened the door it was too late. He wasn't about to let me just turn around and walk away. I had to do something."

He grabbed my arm to stop me as I tried to exit the car. "Tank wasn't angry that you defended yourself against him."

"No, he was angry that I needed defending at all. But '_Hello! McFly?_' have you met me? And I did well enough defending myself. He overreacted to the whole thing." There was a silent moment when I think Lester was searching for something encouraging to say to me, but I was already tired of this conversation and just wanted to get to work. "Do you rub Bobby's back and go over the week's close calls trying to reassure each other before the two of you search houses or go on stakeouts?"

Lester looked down at where his hand was making small circles on the back of my shoulder. He snatched his hand away and cleared his throat like that idea made his ass pucker. "No."

"Then what are we still doing in the car?" All of this time around the Rangemen was starting to bring back memories of important life lessons I'd learned in college. I'd spent so much time around Ranger and Morelli the past few years, I'd almost forgotten how to handle men. I'd gotten too used to having them handle me. It was time for that to stop. "Is this because I'm a woman?" I asked indignantly, already knowing the reaction and answer I'd get.

"No," he insisted immediately, the accusation making even the easy going Lester seem a bit panicked.

"Then let's go already," I ordered as I reached for the door handle once again.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Ranger checked his watch and took a second to close his eyes and massage the minor pain gathering at the bridge of his nose. The team was in position, locked and loaded, but still had a little more than half an hour to wait until the last of the light faded and they could move in to take the building. He looked over to where he could see Ram holding his own position, ever vigilant. _Do I __really__ need to be here? Couldn't they have handled this without me? Couldn't I have ordered Santos to take my place? Because then I could be in his._ [*017]

Never before had he felt the urge to delegate work to his other men that he should do himself. But lately, he'd been catching himself thinking about Stephanie and his silent apartment and wondering what it was that he'd been working so hard and so long for. Money? Reputation? The knowledge that he was doing what was right and necessary? Was that enough? Then he'd remember all of the reasons that it had to be enough. He'd already made his choices and knew he'd have to live with them. But that didn't make it any easier.

He'd seen the Targa in the lot as he left and mentally cringed at the thought that Stephanie would be with Lester when she slid into it and made that exquisite, little, noise she always did when she sank into one of those seats. She made the same noise whenever he let his hand stray south enough to caress her ass, only she was louder with him than with the car seats. That perfect sound was one of the things about her that made regular appearances in his very adult dreams. After her safety, it was the main reason he kept a supply of ready cars for her and tried to get her into them as often as possible. He even liked the way she would shift in her seat on long trips or stake-outs, unconsciously luxuriating in them. He suspected she liked it nearly as much as she liked eating. When she enjoyed a good meal, the sounds could border on pornographic. He almost wished she'd go back to eating sweets. He missed the soundtrack. But then again, he was starting to really enjoy the new, forward, amorous Stephanie. She kept him on his toes in the greatest, if most frustrating, of ways.

He clenched his jaw. Even more frustrating was the way his thoughts always seemed to eventually betray him and bring to mind the one thing he hated to think about more than anything else; the cop. Did she make that sound for Morelli? Does she shiver and moan when he touches her? Does she scream the way she had that night, their one night, when her arms and legs were wrapped around him? _Oh, fuck. Why am I thinking shit like that right now?_

He'd never had a problem setting aside those thoughts before; he was the king of compartmentalization. If it wasn't productive, it wasn't important. But now, he spent all of his time with her wanting to hold her, to feel every inch of her, and all of his time away from her thinking about when he could hold her next or berating himself about who might be holding her at that moment. Maybe he needed her _too_ much. _If I can't control myself…_ Catching the approaching truck on the edge of his vision, Ranger shut down all his thoughts of sweet kisses and moans, of dark imaginings and lamentations. He was on the job and there was work to be done.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Lester made quick work of all the locks at Heidi's house and they entered through the back door unseen. At his request, Stephanie stayed a step behind him. She was positive the house was empty, but knew better than to try talking Lester out of doing a sweep. "One day soon, I'm going to have to learn how to do that," she said as he put his lock picks away.

"Beefin' up the résumé are we?" he whispered as they made their way through the first floor and then to the staircase.

"I promised Ranger that I'd get better at my job," she whispered back as they covered the second floor. "He's kind of turning into a Nervous Nellie."

Lester cleared the last room and outright guffawed. "And you imagine that knowing you have the ability to break into places on your own is going to make it better?"

"Well, it will make me feel better."

"It will only tempt you to do things like this on your own."

Dismissing him rather than getting offended, she answered, "I think I'll be able to handle it. I've had a crash course in temptation this week."

Lester's brow creased slightly as she said that, not sure what to make of it. He shook his head at her. "You're not supposed to be out in the field alone anyway. You'll give Tank a stroke."

Stephanie started glancing around the rooms, scanning the contents of the closets without actually pawing through Heidi's things. "So that means I should just settle for letting someone else do it?"

"You just don't _need_ to know how to do it in order to be good at the job."

"What is this?" She put her hands on her hips. "Are you saying that you think I shouldn't know how to do it at all or that you don't want to be the one to teach me?"

"No, no," he held his hands up. "I volunteer for duty. That ought to be even more fun than this barrel of laughs."

"Sorry there aren't more people to manhandle or threaten," she apologized with buckets of sarcasm. "Next time I'll try to arrange some gunplay for your amusement."

"You're going to give Ranger an eye twitch to match your own," Lester laughed again. "So, this is your show. Where do you want to start?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Obviously with her closets," she said motioning to the open closet she was currently searching. "Then the bathroom."

"We aren't here for a tour," he ribbed as he shifted some boxes around on the high shelf in one of the other closets, checking behind them for anything hidden away.

"And the kitchen cabinets too," she added. Stephanie was making the rounds, peeking inside Heidi's jewelry boxes and drawers.

"What, are you in the market or something?"

"Why, you lookin' for a roomie?" she asked bent over in the corner with her back to him.

He took in the view and had a fun little moment imagining that. "Maybe, do you sleep in the buff?"

"Oh," she asked in an exaggeratedly flirty tone, "so you prefer naked to nighties?"

Lester adopted a pained expression. "Not nice, Bombshell. I'm calling a foul."

Stephanie ignored that on a laugh. "Or are you just waiting for me to move out of my apartment so that you can have it?"

"Ha, ha. Hang onto your day job."

"Yeah, right," she muttered to herself, "but which one?"

He shot her a sharp look at that comment, but she was out of sight, entering the bathroom across the hall. "What are you looking for in the bathroom?" he asked when he joined her.

Stephanie was staring at a tube of lipstick in her hand. "This is a new shade this season. Connie wears it too. It's already half used and it's still here. So is the well-used mascara and concealer. And her foundation has a layer of dust on the lid. Plus, this bathroom is neat as hell, but not clean."

Lester glanced around him. "Since when are you Sherlock Holmes?"

"I'm just a woman, that's all," she waved a hand as she explained. "None of this is definitive by any means," she answered with a worried expression, "but it isn't a good sign. _I_ might be a total wreck, but most women have a thing about their bathrooms." She gestured to her left. "The toilet seat is up. And her most expensive shoes and lingerie are still in her room and so is her empty set of matching luggage. If she left town for some reason, it was on very short notice."

They did the rounds of the first floor; Lester making a copy of her laptop's hard drive on some technical future-gadget he had had in his pocket and Stephanie taking a much closer look around than the last time she'd been there. They both ended up in her kitchen surveying the tidy countertops. There were six empty pizza boxes from Cassano's Pizzeria and wrappers from various burger chains in the trash bin. Stephanie checked the fridge and found that nearly everything had gone bad. "I think Casper was staying here," she eventually spoke.

Lester was more serious now. "Why, because of the toilet seat?"

"That and the evidence of more than just a day or two worth of fast food meals. I don't think any of that was for her. Heidi's fridge was stocked even better than Ranger's. She has a full set of professional cookware. And did you see the magazines in the basket in the other room; Art Culinaire, Food & Wine, Saveur, Bon Appétit? That's not to mention the contents of her bookshelves. I'm pretty sure she's a foodie. I bet you'll find more of the same type of things on her computer."

Lester was examining Stephanie more than the room itself. "And your puzzled expression?"

She indicated the house with a sweep of her arm, "If he was staying here, then where are his things? He was wearing clean clothes the night I was here. Even villains change their underwear."

"It doesn't have to be him." He was looking around at everything more closely now. "Anyone who's busy, lazy, or can't cook might leave behind the same things."

"Then where is the rest of all of _their_ stuff? Where were _they_ while Casper was here, answering the door to my knock and getting shot at?" She walked over to the pizza boxes and tore a piece off of one. "And anyone local who eats at Cassano's this often would know to rip these tabs off the box. For every five, you get money off your next order. There are six boxes here."

"That doesn't prove anything."

She gesticulated in frustration. "It just doesn't feel right. If he wasn't staying here, then who was that food for? When they were here, were they here with Heidi or with him? And if not here, then where has Casper been staying? Why was he here that night instead of that place?"

He surveyed her carefully for a second. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Casper was staying here," she said, each word less steady than the one before it, "and now there's no sign of him at all."

"He's a ghost. He's been doing it a long time."

"But he isn't! He's flesh and blood and locked up at TPD! What did he do, pack-up and clear out his stuff _before_ my spontaneous late night visit that even I didn't know I was going to make?" Her stomach fell as she disclosed, "I don't think he's working alone. I think that someone has to be helping him and they overlooked the toilet lid and left the trash. And I'm thinking that if they've been here already…" she trailed off.

"They could be watching the house right now," Lester finished with as much trepidation in his tone as she had written all over her face.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*014 : Mr. Hudson – White Lies] [*015 : Ray LaMontagne - Hold You In My Arms] [*016 : The Philosopher Kings – I Am The Man (Lester's good enough to have two theme songs. Lol.)] [*017 : Neko Case – I Wish I Was The Moon Tonight]<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter ****17**

Lester and I stared at each other for several silent, unnerving beats, letting reality wash over us. Then we looked over at the large window in the dining room and moved at the same time to close the blinds. We continued throughout the rest of the house, pulling drapes and shades over the windows. It was going to be dark soon anyway. Originally, I had planned to be there for the search just before it got dark, to maximize stealth by having low light as we entered, but just enough daylight left so as not to be forced to turn on the lights in the house, which might alert the neighbors. Now, with the possibility that we'd already been seen and were being watched, I was thinking it would be best to stay until dark to leave. Lester could do his RangeMan silent shadow routine and I could try my best to walk in his steps. I took in our innocuous B&E outfits. I'm sure Lester had enough weapons on him to rob a bank, but neither of us had our RangeMan utility belts on. "Find a flashlight," I ordered Lester. He looked confused for a moment, but then hopped to and started looking.

I was digging around in the cabinet under her kitchen sink when he rapidly, and down-right miraculously, returned with two flashlights in his hand. "Found them." _Where did those come from?_ It was like he pulled them out of his ass.

"Thanks," I said, taking the one he offered without looking up and tucking it into a back pocket.

He watched my search from over my shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

I popped up with a cloth grocery sack. "This."

"Why?" Lester was gazing around me into her pantry, like he was trying to decipher a magic eye painting.

"Stop that," I told him, "the kitchen doesn't matter anymore. Our original search is over. We can't stay and we shouldn't come back again. Instead, we're going to call it a night as quickly as we can and take Heidi with us when we leave."

"What the hell does that mean?"

I was rifling through a stack of paper on her dining table. "All we need to do to have a decent facsimile of her is to find all the right pieces."

"Try that again," he said as he followed me, flicking his flashlight on and off to test it, "this time string together a few words that make sense."

"Stop that," I ordered him again, "unless you want anyone on the street to think there's a photo shoot going on in here." I was looking for her kitchen's junk drawer; everyone has one. I have several of them, in fact.

_Bingo_. Heidi's was surprisingly, and thankfully, neat and ordered. I waved my hand at Lester, trying to keep all the ideas running though my head in some semblance of practicality. "Go in the other room and press play on her answering machine. Is there some way you can use that Hitchhiker's Guide you brought with you to record them?"

"Yeah," Lester chuckled. The sound of her machine drifted in from the next room as Lester went about his second task while I started filling my bag with a personal address book, commercial matchbooks, carry out menus from four and five star restaurants, old receipts, business cards, gift certificates, and clipped coupons.

"Make sure you get her voicemail and message codes too if you can do that," I called to Lester as I finished in the kitchen and headed for Heidi's office space. Searching through her desk, I added to my bag her datebook, a rolodex, more business cards, a stack of her mail, and a dozen jotted post-it notes that she had stuck around her computer. I found a digital camera in one of her desk drawers and grabbed that too, as well as a handful of SIM and SD memory cards I found. I opened her filing cabinets and adjusted the tabs so they were all visible and took photos of each drawer.

"If you wanted to avoid giving the impression we're having a photo shoot in here, the camera flashes are a bad idea, Plum." Lester came over to me as I was snapping photos of anything that might be even remotely important. "What are you doing?"

"We need to search these later, but can't. So we're taking as much of it all with us as we can, even if that's just a snapshot of what's on top. Keep up, man. This isn't rocket science."

"You know, we might be destroying a crime scene."

"Probably," I agreed lightly, trying to fight back the wave of nervous nausea. "We crossed that bridge as soon as you picked the lock."

"This is theft too," he said as he examined some crumpled papers from her wastebasket. "It's all highly illegal."

"You need to be more positive, Les. We might be destroying a crime scene, but we're leaving an entirely new one in its place."

"Hey," he shrugged palms up, "I'm good with it. You're the one who doesn't like getting arrested."

I smiled over my shoulder at him, "I told you tonight would be fun, didn't I?" I walked past him into the living room and found several photo albums on her bookshelves. Flipping through them, I took the one that looked the most recent and dropped that in the bag too. I snatched up a note that was next to the living room phone that had two phone numbers written on it and was labeled 'Nick.' I went to the side table near her front door and was leafing through another stack of recent mail when I noticed Lester had stopped searching and was watching me. "What?"

He gave his head a shake like he was trying to wake himself up. "Nothing."

"Well, don't just stand there. Soon it's going to be too dark to see anything. Then this will all be that much harder, since I'm improvising here and I don't know what's worse, turning the house lights on to announce that someone is here or using the flashlights and getting spotted by neighbors like we're the Watergate burglars." He didn't move. _What was he waiting for, more orders?_ He was supposed to be the professional here. "Why don't you go get something from the bathroom with her DNA on it," was my next command. "A hairbrush or that lipstick we found. There are plastic bags in the kitchen, second cabinet from the left."

He didn't answer, but looked at me for a few more seconds before turning to do as I'd asked. I ignored him and made my way to her bedroom, guilt creeping over me as I looked through the things on her nightstand. That was really private territory and I felt like a louse for invading it. The horrifying thought flashed in my mind that my gut was off about this and Heidi would come home from vacation in two days and wonder who the hell took all of the personal effects from her house, but left behind all of the actually valuable things she owned. Not to mention the knicker-soiling possibility that at some point my fingerprints were going to be found all over her house. _Crap_, I really wished I'd thought of that an hour ago.

"Got it, Stephanie." Lester reappeared in the bedroom doorway with a zip-locked hairbrush.

I took it from him and added it to my growing stash. "Can you think of anything else?"

"I'm not even positive why you think most of that is going to be of any use landing Truth."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Neither am I." Then he was looking at me strangely again. "He did something with someone and it brought him here," I tried to explain, "and if we trace his steps we might find it. Figuring out _why_ he was here will help, but to do that we have to know how he's connected to the Stokes' and this is the best place to start." He was still staring at me and it was starting to make me uncomfortable. The silent statue stuff wasn't usually Lester's thing. And with full night fast approaching it was eerie to have him do it across the heavily shadowed bedroom. "I'm worried about her," I confessed. "There is just too much about all of this that's making my alarm bells jangle."

Lester nodded once. "So, what's next?"

"Once it's dark enough to cross the yard under relative cover, I want to see the garage."

He nodded again and checked his watch. "Shouldn't be long. Maybe ten minutes. I'll go make sure she doesn't have any automatic security lights on the garage."

I watched him retreat back down the stairs. I did one more sweep of the upstairs floor adding a few things to the bag here and there, and then followed him, curious about the abrupt change that had come over the normally jovial man.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The suspicious truck proved to be a false alarm, just an everyday small time drug deal. It made its delivery to someone who was of no interest to RangeMan and then disappeared. So the waiting continued. Ranger, Woody, Colt, and Ram were posted around a dark, dilapidated building. There were still faded remnants of painted letters on the large front window that read 'Premier Kitchens & Bathrooms.' Behind the store there were offices, rooms for inventory storage, and access to the long since abandoned residence that made up the second story. Most of the windows were boarded up, making it an ideal location for clandestine criminal activity. And there were plenty of people in the neighborhood who regularly took advantage of that fact. When night fell around them, the men moved to the building and swept it for ignorant innocents and bona fide baddies; the only people of note being a homeless man they paid to vacate and several teenagers who were looking to score and needed to be 'convinced' not to return again that night.

"All clear, Boss; building secure," Ram's voice sounded out of Ranger's earpiece.

"Copy," Ranger replied through his comm. "Take up points of dom. and stand to. Woody hold LP/OP, eyes on the perimeter. We've still got a wait ahead."

His men promptly replied in the affirmative. "Copy, Boss." Then, "10-4." And a, "Copy that."

Two and a half hours later the men's legs and backs were cramping and there was still no sign of the evening's quarry. Ranger's patience was wearing dangerously thin. "Ram. Call in. Confirm the intel."

There was a pause, and then, "Confirmed."

"Changes?" he asked in the angry authoritative tone that reminded his employees why he wasn't a man you ever wanted to cross. "Tip offs? Leaks?"

"Negative," Ram answered instantly. "They should be rolling in any second."

The unexpected delay was a bad sign, but RangeMan had spent three weeks setting up this bust and the last thing any of them wanted to do was scrap it and start over. These three particular FTAs were wanted by several agencies for multiple crimes and everything had been carefully arranged for them to all be in one place at the same time. Michael Finn, Bill Johnson, and Jakob Kuntz, were important players in a newly rising drug ring trafficking between New York and Baltimore via Trenton. They were worth a lot of money and needed to be taken off the streets before they could get a toehold in the local drug trade. The last thing Trenton needed was a new edition to the ongoing drug war. But concern for the city's welfare wasn't the real reason Ranger's typically disciplined patience was failing him. That night, he simply had somewhere else he'd rather be.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I drew my gun and led the way as we quickly skirted the back of Heidi's house and crossed over to the garage's side door. The surrounding buildings had far too many windows with a clear view of the yard and driveway for me to cover them all at once. And nearly all of them were dark. Someone could watch out of them for hours and never be noticed. I saw Stephanie's head on the same swivel and figured she was having similar thoughts; if there was someone watching, this was dangerous. I knew that the company Truth keeps is almost as bad as he is, but there wasn't so much as a glimmer of visible activity in any window and at least that left the slim possibility that no one was watching.

Once we were inside the door, I reholstered and turned to Stephanie. She already had her flashlight out and was searching the garage, making a circuit around the Milan Hybrid parked in the center. She quickly opened doors and scanned cabinets and shelves, one after another. When she reached one particular shelf she stopped and stared at it. I didn't see anything there. Moving closer to look over her shoulder, I saw her run her finger along the wood and look at it. Then she went back to the last shelf and did the same thing. Then she repeated the action on the windowsill and the trunk of the car. _Was she checking them out for cleanliness?_

"There was something on this shelf. It was pretty big, and it's only been gone a day maybe."

I flashed my light on the surface, saw the faint outline in the dust, and mentally reviewed the layers of dust she'd disturbed on the things she'd touched. _Damn_. She was right.

"What would they want out of her garage?" she asked quietly, more to herself than to me.

As if I had an idea anyway. "Could be anything."

The beam of her flashlight bobbed slightly when she nodded. "That's certainly true. It's possible she didn't even know it was here to be taken. She wasn't exactly the spending-time-out-in-the-shed type, you know." She shrugged. "But I doubt it was something as simple as a tool box."

"Why?"

She craned her neck and flashed her light over her shoulder to a set of shelves on the other side of the garage. "Because her tool box is over there."

_How the hell..?_ And Ranger doesn't think she's aware of her surroundings. I smiled in the dark. "That's my Little Miss Holmes."

"That makes you Dr. Watson, smartass," she said as she moved on in her search. "You've got a real talent for self flattery, you know that?"

"One of many."

I couldn't see her very well in the darkness, but I heard her soft laugh. "Well, could you use a few of them and break into this car for me?"

Setting my light aside, I moved to show her just how far my talents stretched. Breaking into an alarmed car, blind in the dark isn't an everyday thing. "Let me guess, you're going to want some lessons for this too."

"Not a bad idea with my car history. Plus, I bet I'm supposed to know how, since I'm working garage now and am going to have to call myself to help out when I lock my keys in my car."

My laughter wasn't loud enough to cover the sound of the car's locks popping. "Your carriage, milady."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Despite their best efforts to remain invisible, the man and woman appeared clearly, centered in the camera's viewfinder. The camera's shutter clicked wildly in the dark room. Without daylight or a flash, these would be night vision shots and slightly blurry. But that didn't matter. The two figures were easily recognizable. And so was the bulky bag they carried with them as they left the garage and slipped out silently through the gate at the back of the property. Keeping the camera ready and focused, the photographer pulled out a cell phone and hit speed dial. The recorded screening message picked up immediately and the dull tone signaled for the caller to speak. "I'm calling in my marker," declared the silky, dulcet voice. The phone beeped as it was disconnected and then safely tucked away again. The only sounds that could now be heard were the mechanical whir of the camera's parts and the soft, steady ticking of a clock on the wall.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

As I headed North on Route 31, I waited to see how long it would take for Lester to ask where we were going. It wasn't long, two minutes tops. "You've made a wrong turn," he said as I cruised through the night in the opposite direction of my apartment.

"We're headed to Ewing, and I'm going to need your assistance as my faithful doc sidekick a little bit longer."

"I'm all yours tonight, Beautiful," was his overly lascivious affirmation.

Grateful as I was that he wasn't one of those men who always insisted on driving, by that point in the evening I wasn't in a mood so agreeable that I'd play along with anymore of his double entendre. "I need body receipts."

"Why?"

"Les, I have eleven open FTAs, nine of which are very…" I tried to think of an appropriate way to describe this particular group of ladies, "_randy_ women. Who on Earth is going to believe that I spent an evening trying to pick them up with _you_ riding shot gun, and then somehow managed to end the night empty handed?" Lester gave a smug laugh. "There wouldn't be any excuses for that. People would start to wonder what we spent the night doing."

"Let 'em wonder," he waggled his eyebrows at me. "No skin off my nose."

"Are you sure about that?" I cut my eyes to him. "I've seen Ranger hit people before. Their noses usually take some pretty serious punishment."

Without missing a beat, Lester immediately asked, "Who are we after first?" _Thought so_.

"The ladies aren't top priority. The most urgent file is Auggie Oak," I told him, pointing to the box in the backseat where Lester found and retrieved the folder. "I kind of feel sorry that I have to pick him up. He should have just gone to his court date."

Lester gave the file a cursory glance. "This guy's got serious issues."

"He isn't the one with issues," I explained. "He's actually a really nice guy. But his family is for shit. I heard about his arrest when it happened. Auggie runs his own business, completely legit. They do roof work, foundation repairs, chimneys, etc. He did some work at Morelli's when he first inherited the house. He's good. Well, his cousin Marcus wanted new siding, so he got Auggie to do it, family discount, yadda, yadda. Auggie and a few of his guys spent a couple days on the job and when it was almost done he didn't need to be there anymore. So, he went home to get the paperwork and receipts and stuff. Only when he got there he found Marcus and his wife in bed, doing a whole heap of their own form of house work. Auggie went ape shit. The whole time he was over in Trenton doing his cousin a solid –"

"Marcus was getting solid with his wife over at his house," he interjected. "Damn, that is cold."

"Tell me about it," I grimaced at bitter memories. "When it happened to me I lost my mind in a pretty violent way for a while. To this day, I occasionally have little relapses whenever I'm around Joyce."

Lester turned towards me slightly as he asked, "when what happened to you?"

"You don't know about The Dick?" I asked with some confusion. "I thought everyone knew about that. I'm positive Ranger knows all about it, and the way it spread around the 'Burg, you'd have thought it was broadcast over the emergency alert system."

"I know that you were married before to a man named Richard. I'm going to assume that's what you mean by 'The Dick,' but that's all that I know. I'm not from the 'Burg, and it's not as if Ranger would have said anything. He's never really been a talkative guy."

"No, I guess you're right about that," I had to laugh. "Well, I came home one day and found Dickie and Joyce bare-butt and bouncing on our new dining room table. Ape shit isn't an inaccurate way to describe my reaction. Channeling my inate talent for resourceful, improvised pyrotechnics, I used most of Dickie's possessions to start a sizable bonfire on the hood of his car. Auggie played to his own strengths too. He gave his wife the boot, threw a few dozen punches in Marcus' direction and then went back to his house and proceeded to tear down every last piece of the new siding he'd just finished putting up."

Lester was shaking his head and muttered, "what the hell could be so wrong with a man that he'd cheat when he already had you?" That remark made me slightly uncomfortable. I've spent years purposefully avoiding thinking about variations of that question. Eventually, I just decided I'd never know why Dickie did the things he did. Honestly, I wasn't sure I _wanted_ to know the answer. It was easiest to assume Lester's question was rhetorical and didn't call for an answer, so that's exactly what I did.

The rest of the drive was made in companionable silence that continued even after I'd pulled over and parked down the block from our destination. I spent a minute observing the street while Lester finished reading the file. Oakenstaff's house was a modest, well-maintained, blue and white Cape Cod. His property was bordered on all sides by a simple, four foot, wrought iron fence, giving his three large dogs plenty of room to either frolic with each other or aggressively toy with intruders. There were lights on in the house and I had a good feeling about this pick-up.

"I'm going to give him a call first. All of Lula's attempts to bring him in weren't successful, but I'm pretty sure that none of them involved politely asking him to come with her." Lester chuckled, but the sound abruptly stopped when I elaborated, "She went ahead and took her chances with his German Shepherds. Personally," I explained as I flipped open my phone and dialed Auggie's number, "I think the dogs are threatening enough to exhaust all other avenues of approach first."

Auggie answered quickly and after my usual BEA spiel he appeared at the door beneath the breezeway at the side of his house. Waving in our direction, he told me to head over there. He would call off the dogs and be ready to come with us in a few minutes.

"He said he'll be ready shortly," I related as I grabbed my bag. I already had one foot out of the car.

Lester was scowling in the direction of the house. "I don't like dogs."

"What's this?" I stopped to look back at him. "Lester 'Headlong' Santos is nervous about a few puppies?"

He wore a deep, unhappy frown. "Animals carry diseases."

_Oh this was too good._ "Feel free to wait in the car. You'll be safe in here." I patted his knee in feigned reassurance, climbed out, and made my way towards Auggie's front walk.

"That's not going to happen," he declared and slammed his door closed behind him.

"Really, it's okay if you want to wait for me there. Auggie agreed to cooperate. I'm not going to need the muscle." This was the first time in history that I led the way forward while my RangeMan security lagged behind reluctantly. I couldn't rein in my smile. Lester was too often dishing out smack-talk for me to let this go without comment. It would have been remiss of me not to take the opportunity to give a little back to him. "Do you want me to hold your hand?"

Lester was tense and wearing his RangeMan blank face. I don't think he liked the fact that I'd uncovered this particular weakness, but it was his own fault for blurting it out in the first place. "Just be quiet and let's get this over with."

"Wow, you're cranky when you're scared."

"I'm not scared. I just don't like dogs."

Auggie was at the door, beckoning us through the gate. "Come on in, I've already called my neighbor, Ted." It was more fun than it should have been to see Lester stoically resist squirming as our gentle, friendly canine hosts greeted us. "He'll be right over to take the mutts for me. I am correct in assuming that there's no possible way I'm going to get rebonded at this time of night?"

"No," I admitted, trying to assume an apologetic posture. "You won't."

He nodded and walked back into the house, entering the kitchen and crossing to the sink. He started gathering clean dishes and putting them away. "Take a seat. He'll be a minute or two. I woke him up when I called."

"Sorry about that." I said taking a seat at an ugly, uncomfortable, alpikord dinette set. "I'll call Connie and she'll be there to get you out first thing tomorrow."

"Thanks." He eyed Lester for a moment and looked like he was going to invite him to sit down again, but Lester was projecting more than enough 'on-alert, don't-F-with-me, highly lethal, badass-ery' to thoroughly discourage any of the usual social niceties. Auggie just went back to his light housework.

All was calm and quiet, and I was feeling a little awkward that I'd brought along an armed guard who looked mean enough to disarticulate body parts when Auggie was being nothing but polite and cooperative. I couldn't remember having a more reasonable skip. For a second, I even entertained the passing thought that of all the skips I've chased down over the years, he was probably the one I'd regret capturing the most and my awkward meter shot up several points. Unfortunately, at that moment the most accessible of my normal coping mechanisms was my own personal brand of verbal diarrhea. "So what happened, Augs? Why didn't you make it to court? You really should have gone. Honestly, how bad could it have been? I'd find it hard to believe that any judge or jury wouldn't be sympathetic to your situation. From what I know about Marcus, he doesn't have a lot of friends in the criminal justice system. The majority of his buddies are all tied up in the correctional system. More than likely you would have gotten a slap on the wrist and maybe a fine. But now that you've skipped out, that's a whole other ball of wax and it means you'll have to deal with Vinnie more than the minimal amount of time. That is never a smart move. Plus, the fact that you basically did it voluntarily is going to make people think you're a weirdo."

I only finally stopped rambling because Auggie started laughing and Lester was staring at me like we'd never been introduced.

"It was a job," Auggie explained, "several actually. That stunt I pulled cost me a pretty penny and several shiny dimes too." He dried his hands on a kitchen towel and sat down at his table across from me. "I had to be at work. There were three separate work sites where I was supposed to make the rounds that day and the appearance in court just got pushed and pushed until it was far enough back in my mind that I lost it completely."

I fished out one of my cards. "If you need a reminder next time, I can make a wake-up call."

"Thanks again," he smiled down at the slip of oaktag in his hand before looking up and turning it in my direction, "but I'm definitely not going to forget next time. This delay is going to end up costing me almost as much money and reputation as the damage I did to Marcus' house. I simply _can't_ do it again. I don't really have a choice in the matter. I can't afford it."

"That isn't going to make your memory any better."

"Miss Plum," his smile changed as he leaned closer to me, "if you're looking for a reason to call me, it doesn't need to involve the law in any way. We could find some other reasons."

_Oh, he must be feeling pretty desperate to try to pull off a remark like that._ I did always have a soft spot for cute guys who'd been hard done by. If I wasn't so determined to procure some sweaty, energetic, Latin nights in my near future, I might have even actually considered giving him that call. "Your wife might have a legal concern or two if we started…" I leaned forward slightly too, "chatting."

"My wife's concerns no longer concern me and as long as my soon-to-be ex-wife doesn't concern you either, then even with my work schedule, I'd make plenty of time for you."

The guy had had a rough couple weeks, the kind I could understand, and I thought he deserved to smile for a few minutes before we carted him off to the clink. So, I was all ready to the honorable thing and let him down gently, with some reluctance for show and a compliment or two thrown in for good measure, when Lester made his very unwelcome two cents known. "She has a busy enough work schedule of her own."

Auggie eyed Lester again, very quickly. I think for a second he might have even forgotten he was there.

"Don't mind him," I gritted out, "That's just my muscle, Lester. He's here in case you decide to resist capture." I was tempted to add, '_and he's in a bad mood because your dogs are about to make him crap his pants,_' but I held my tongue and made do with an angry glare.

Auggie valiantly ignored Lester's glowering presence. "I couldn't resist you if I tried."

"You could give it a shot," Lester suggested in challenging mien.

"Les," I hissed warningly.

My disapproval was noted by Auggie and I think it gave him a little courage. "You know, I knew a Lester once. In the Navy. A dumb little shit. Wasn't a single thing about him that you'd call a muscle," he explained with nostalgic laughter, "but he was a funny S.O.B."

Still too annoyed to laugh, I made the testy excuse, "Well, my Lester is almost pure muscle, but when he tries he's funny enough to make up for his poor manners."

"I think that's a natural defense," Auggie pondered. "It's something they have to develop, since their mother's named them Lester."

That did get a tiny rippling giggle from me. "Maybe. I guess it's one explanation."

But it didn't improve on Lester's attitude, which only seemed to grow darker by the second. "Your name is Augustus Waldo Oakenstaff."

"And his wit just sparkles, doesn't it?" I indicated Auggie with a Vanna White type gesture. "The theory holds."

'Ted the Neighbor' showed up soon after that and we were on our way back to Trenton, Lester silently at the wheel while Auggie and I made friendly conversation. There were no cuffs or mouthing off, nothing smelly and viscous seeping into my clothing; I surprised myself and utterly enjoyed my job for a few minutes.

When I returned to the SRX with my body receipt for Auggie, Lester was stone-faced and looking through the other files I had brought with us. "How many more of these were you planning on doing tonight?" he asked tonelessly.

_For cryin' out loud._ "What exactly is your problem?" I asked testily.

"Your behavior," he answered before I'd even finished the question. "Oakenstaff is a skip, and you were encouraging him."

"Oh, geez, not you too," I huffed and rolled my eyes. "It was fine! He was charming."

"Not everyone is charming with good intentions, Plum." I didn't like the way he said my last name. "You let your guard down."

"He was cooperating. He was being nice," I said with an unconcerned shake of my head. "He's had a tough time of it lately and he's probably going to have a real shitty night thanks to us. It isn't the end of the world to smile at the guy."

"He has himself to thank for ending up exactly where he is," Lester practically growled. "He broke the law, then he broke it again, and now he's facing the consequences for it. That is in no way our fault. If we didn't being him in, it would have been someone else. Finally giving in and doing what he was supposed to have done in the first place, doesn't make him a good guy. You think he deserves a cookie for not being violent? Millions of people go through life everyday without being violent. That doesn't make them good people either."

What was he getting at? Was I supposed to treat every person I came across as a potential threat? "What do you all want from me," I nearly shouted. "What exactly would it take to convince you that I'm watching out for my safety? Do I need to walk through life with a loaded gun actually in my hand?"

Lester's voice lowered and he held me in a lacerating stare. "You are not close personal friends with that man and you were less than a foot from him. He had knives and glassware in his hands at certain points. There were three large dogs with us in a confined space. And he had called a second man, who we didn't know _anything_ about, to come over to his home while we were there in his house, _his territory_. There was FUBAR potential all over that situation. You even had the audacity to suggest that I wait in the car."

_Damn it all!_ Did he have to make sense like that? They twist everything around. They make it impossible to argue. _He was wrong!_ We sat in angry silence for several minutes. I gazed out my window, too pissed to look at him. _He was wrong, wasn't he?_ That had been a great pick-up. We hadn't had any problems. There was no need for me to be a total bitch. If I act like a prick and piss people off, unlike Lester I don't have half a foot and sixty pounds on them. I can't go into situations knowing that I can handle anything if it comes time to 'put up or shut up.' Half the time, I already know my skips going in. I can't kick down doors and terrify someone into compliance. I have to talk my way in the door or somehow talk them out of it. At least I have to try. That's who I am. That's how I operate, with the knowledge that my skips are people too, with messy lives and problems of their own. Learning to understand my skips is how I find them and catch them. Excuse me if that means I have to spend a moment or two getting to know them. Ranger once told me, 'You don't care about the plot. Your job is simple.' But he was wrong. _So wrong_. The plot always matters. If you're going to profess to live in a world of grays, then you have to be able to distinguish between the different shades. And to do that, you have to know the story. _It matters_. I turned back to Lester, ready to give him an earful. "Look, I can't go bullying my way around town or slipping in and out of the shadows. I talk to people face to face and have to try to appeal to any civility they've got. That's the only way I can do this job. I cannot walk around thinking the world is an ugly place, waiting to be proven wrong. I – "

"No one is asking you to," he cut me off. "Just stop _ignoring_ the ugly parts. Ignoring them isn't going to make them go away. Or keep you safe from them. Smile at the guy all you want, just do it from across the room. Keep your back to the wall and be aware of his hands." I had to avert my eyes again. He was making even more sense now. "Steph, twice tonight you called me your 'muscle.' I'm not here to be your muscle." He reached over and prodded my shoulder, "hey," until I turned back to him. "I'm here as you're partner. You're looking at this whole thing from the wrong angle. A partner is back up. But _YOU_ need to be your first line of defense. A partner picks up the slack in the event of an unanticipated threat. For the ones you can anticipate, _you_ need to be prepared. A partner is not protection; he's support. He's there _if_ you need him, not _when_. And you're there if he needs you."

Shit. I didn't know what to say. He _was_ right.

When it was clear to Lester that I didn't have a response, he added, "I know you're relatively new to this partner stuff and used to doing things your own way, but it's important. Try to remember that."

I just nodded.

But he didn't start the car. "You were so in control earlier," he said, watching me closely. "Then as soon as we go to make a pick-up, you're happy to take up second position. What happened on the drive over there that had you doubting yourself and in a hurry to hand the responsibilities over to me?"

"I don't know." I had a growing lump in my throat.

"I trust you to have my back if I need you. Now you need to figure out how to trust yourself to get the job done. But that's not going to happen overnight." He bopped me on the head with the folders he was holding. "Don't over think it, Sherlock. We have more fugitives to apprehend and Professor Moriarty is still out there somewhere."

He made me laugh, the sly bastard. "Are you really a Doyle fan?"

"I plead the fifth."

"Watson, my good man," I joked as I snatched the files from him, "an Englishman does not have Fifth Amendment Rights, although he may invoke his common law Right to Silence." Lester was choking out that hardy, silent laugh of his as I flipped open the top file. "Did you have the next one picked out while I was inside?"

"Calokis is the closest address," he told me, still catching his breath and turning over the ignition. "Let's stay local; it's getting late."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The shadows on the wall shifted from one side of the room to the other as the van's headlights flashed past the window near Colt's position. He was crouched down in a large, open storage room at the back of the store. From there he had a clear view of the entire room and part of the narrow gravel driveway that ran the length of the building and led to the private, side entrance.

Ranger heard the crunch of tires on the gravel and a vehicle door slam. "Report."

From his lookout post, Woody answered, "Ready, set, go, Boss. I've got eyes on targets. Four males, dressed. Johnson and Kuntz headed inside, coming at you Ram. Finn unloading the package. Forth man at the wheel, engine running."

"Copy that. Go swift, go silent." The Rangemen were coiled and ready.

The residential access door creaked open and then banged shut. Sounds of heavy footsteps and coats being unzipped and discarded could be heard as the two men climbed the staircase and moved farther into the apartment. "When we got the shit, get ridda Dom. I don't want him hangin' nowhere 'round here tonight. He's a fuckin' jinx." Johnson moved forward down the hall, past Ranger's position in the dark bathroom and straight towards the bedroom where Ram was waiting for him.

Kuntz was carrying a greasy paper bag that smelled like sausages and made a left heading for the kitchen. "Yeah, yeah, you only told me like a hundred fuckin' times already." He crossed to the window and was looking down at the scene in the driveway. "He already knows he ain't stayin'." Then he sat down on an old, dusty crate in the corner to eat his oily meal.

After a few beats of silence, small noises came over the comms, a hitched breath followed by the rustling of fabric and then a dull thud. Ram's whisper confirmed, "Johnson secured."

Then Woody whispered his next report, "Offload complete, Finn entering building, van rolling out." Ranger moved from his position, preparing to take Kuntz. With his back to the wall, he stood to the side of the doorway, waiting for Colt to report that he'd secured Finn.

But once through the door and in the building, Finn didn't immediately head to the storage room or up the stairs. He stood at the bottom of the steps and called out. "Yo, get down here with that phone so we can do this shit already. This whole thing is takin' too fuckin' long."

After that, everything happened in a blur of action and reaction.

Kuntz jumped up and walked back towards the staircase, "B.J. you got the phone?" As he turned the corner, Ranger was forced to make his move early. He grabbed Kuntz in the blink of an eye. One arm wrapped around the lower half of his face in a gagging headlock. The other checked Kuntz in his side, knocking the wind out of him. As Kuntz raised his hands to claw at Ranger's arm, the bag and beer bottle he'd been holding flew out of his grasp, noisily clattering down the staircase. His legs were swept from under him and he crashed to the floor face down. Ranger tagged his neck with a stun gun to put him out, then dragged him out of the hall and back into the kitchen to shackle him, reporting, "Kuntz secured."

Finn had gone ahead to the store room without waiting for a reply. He heard the crashes from above echo down the stairs and drew a gun, forcing Colt to also make his move earlier than planned, similar to and only seconds later than Ranger's. He had Finn halfway to the ground when he managed to wrench the hand with the gun free and popped off three blind shots over his shoulder. Colt struggled for control of the gun as his voice sounded out over their comms, "Contact! Contact!"

At the sound of the shots and shouts, Ram advanced, weapon in hand, to the top of the stairs. But he wasn't the only one who had heard all the commotion. Outside, the van had slammed into park and the driver jumped out, as well as another hidden man who had been out of sight in the back of the van the entire time. Both men had guns drawn and Woody shouted a warning through the comm. as he abandoned his post and came sprinting around the back of the building, "Fifth man! Fifth man! Four and five going in hot. I'm coming around behind them."

The hidden man ducked inside first and headed down a narrow hallway leading to the store and the scuffle over Finn's weapon. The driver entered right behind him and arrived at the bottom of the stairs the exact moment that Ram appeared at the top. He got off two rounds, hitting Ram dead center in the chest of his flak vest. Ram wheeled backwards as he took aim. He only needed one shot to drop his assailant. While they were exchanging fire, the fifth man was rushing down the long hall towards Colt, where he was grappling with Finn, still in the process of securing him. But Woody was on the newcomer almost immediately. The man heard him coming and swung around, firing wildly into the darkness behind him. One of his shots skimmed Woody in the thigh, but it didn't slow him down. Woody kept coming and slammed into his assailant like a linebacker. With a whoosh, his air left him and the man's head snapped back as he fell, hitting the floor with a sick crunch. He laid there, out cold and a moment of void silence dominated the scene while the men's ears rang and hearts pounded.

Then in an instant, activity resumed. Ranger was at the bottom of the stairs by then, alert, armed, and feeling for a pulse on the man Ram had shot. He called for an ambulance once he'd confirmed the man was still breathing. Each Rangeman reported 'all subjects secured' and Woody added 'superficial flesh wound' to his. After hanging up the phone, Ranger checked the wounded man's I.D, Dominic Amado; and that of his well-hidden companion, Jesus Cenatiempo. The names were familiar, but not particularly relevant to him at the moment. He had more important matters pressing for his attention just then. His long night was about to get even longer.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


	18. Chapter 18

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

** A/N: In this chapter, I've restored a short portion of a scene which had been originally cut from the story the first time it was posted at the Y! groups. **

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter ****18**

Pulling away from the station, I reviewed our next skip's vitals out loud as Lester drove. "Amber Calokis; nineteen, unemployed student, lives on Genesee St. with her mother, two cousins, uncle, and grandparents. She was charged with disturbing the peace, disorderly conduct, and resisting arrest."

"You have a lot of those in there," he indicated the stack with a nod of his head, never losing his eagle-eyed focus on the road. "Exactly how randy are these ladies?"

"That night? _Very_ randy," I explained, "including her mother, Jenna Mault, who is one of the other women up on the same charges. It looks like this is going to be a two-for-one pick-up."

"Two women at once, huh?" he smirked.

"Don't be gross."

The Mault/Calokis home was only about a mile from the station. Theirs was second from the last on the South end of a long block of small row houses. If it was larger than my parents' house, it couldn't have been by more than a few hundred square feet. I thought of my own family when we all merely tried to have a meal in the same room. The idea of this family all living under that simple, meager roof made me plotz.

Lester broke the silence after we spent about five minutes watching the house, "How do you think we should do this?"

"Well," I hesitated. I'd spotted at least two different people cross in front of windows that shined out into the night with the flickering lights of television sets and/or computer screens, "I figure since most nightly news shows are about to end and the late night shows are about to start, our best bet is to just knock on the door. People are either already in bed, out for the night, or planning to be up watching for another hour. Considering the amount of light coming from this place, I'd guess that they're _all_ still up and that's the one real problem I see. If they're all in there and moving about, and possibly even have company, it'll mean a good head count. If they really decide they want to resist, we'll have more trouble than it's worth. Unless you want to call for even more back-up, this one is going to have to be a soft sell." I felt my confidence slowly draining away as I explained my thoughts. I was still having major difficulties with this whole 'thinking before I do' way of conducting myself. It had a way of making me see how slim my chances really were that any one of my pick-ups would go smoothly. It's so much easier _pretending_ I know exactly what I'm doing if I don't spend a lot of time actually _thinking_ about exactly what it is I'm doing.

He studied me for a moment and gave his chin one sharp nod, "agreed then, we ring the doorbell. You make an appeal to civility and I'll flex in the background. That was the idea, right?" He twisted sharply in his seat and shot a bodybuilder's side chest pose in my direction. It looked more awkward than impressive when attempted while sitting behind the wheel. I giggled in an embarrassingly girly moment. Sometimes he was just too goofy. Lester proceeded to contort himself into an even less probable position, trying to give me a view of his chest's other side as well. "Do you think it would be more effective without the shirt? It comes off, you know."

I was having trouble getting enough air into my lungs, but it was definitely not a lustful side effect. "Stop it, Les!" I managed to squeak through the snickers. "I'm gonna pee my pants!"

He let his arms fall from their tensed pose and sat back in his seat, relaxed and looking impressed with himself. "And you accused me of being gross?"

"Please be serious." I wiped away a few of my giggle tears. He was confusing the hell out of me. "I'm really trying here."

"That's the problem," he said as he turned away from me and angled out of his seat.

I double checked the paperwork and made sure I had my gun before I scooted out of the car. "My effort is the problem?" I asked as I trotted up next to Lester, who was already well on his way down the street.

"I wouldn't put it like that," he said, "but it's definately closer to the mark." He was moving farther away from the house and I wasn't completely sure where he was going.

"How would you put it?" I looked around us and saw a porch light blink on down the street. "And where are you going? This is the wrong way. You can't just mill around in this neighborhood late at night and not expect to alert someone. This is the kind of block where I'm more worried about what kind of weapons the little old ladies are carrying than I am about bangers and turf wars. There _was_ someone in the window at Amber's house, remember? I don't think getting caught sneaking around down the street is the best way to convince them to come with us. It's late and if we give them too much time to think they might realize they're going to have to spend the night locked up. I already called Connie and can tell them that she'll be there for Augs first thing in the morning, but you're probably going to have to – "

Lester abruptly stopped and turned to me. "You're trying too hard." He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a cramped, shadowed gangway that ran between two houses. "Thirty minutes ago you weren't trying at all. Now you've hit the other extreme and your mind and mouth are running a mile a minute." He was pressing me back against the cold side of the building. He had his hands on either side of my shoulders. I was rapidly losing my personal space and if he got any closer my breathing space was going to start disappearing as well. "What are you thinking this second, Stephanie?"

"I want to know what the hell you're doing." I turned my face away and reached out to push a palm on his chest and make some room between us. It felt like bedrock beneath my hand and I couldn't move it.

"Exactly. You were caught off guard again." Lester only moved closer. I felt his breath shift my hair, his proximity disconcerting. "I'm not going to kiss you." All I heard was the word 'kiss.' The wave of dread that spread through my body shocked me. He was so hard and strong and hot. He didn't smell like Ranger, clean and dark and spicy. Lester's body was emitting even more heat than Ranger's did, but he smelled sweeter, musky, like pheromones and cream. By all rights, I should have wanted him to kiss me. He was smart and loyal and funny and had the kind of physique you saw in the pages of art history books. But for some reason the idea of kissing him made my stomach roll. "I want anyone who sees us to _think_ I'm going to kiss you," he informed me quietly.

My eyes immediately flew to the view of the street I had over his shoulder. If someone saw us like this and recognized me… "Why?"

"Keep your eyes on the street, especially the other gangway on the opposite side. Are we being tailed on foot?"

My eyes searched the area he described, but I was confused by the request. And I wanted to know why Lester wasn't shaking the way I was. "I don't think so."

"There was a man sitting in a red sedan. He was blond and wearing a dark colored coat. It had a hood; he might be hard to spot in the shadows between the porch lights," he directed my sight.

"I don't see him," I said, forgoing my unease regarding our awkward proximity and replacing it with mild but increasing paranoia. "Why didn't you say anything? I would have looked."

"That's why I didn't mention it. I don't think he was there the whole time," he hesitated for a second before adding, "but I'm not positive. I didn't notice him right away."

"Did he seem like a professional, or just some regular old rubbernecker? He might be a nobody." I was fairly sure that Lester would have spotted a tail on us while we'd been driving, so I assumed that if we were being watched, the man was most likely a new arrival.

"It doesn't matter who he is; he was watching us. We're out of his view now, and I wanted to see if he'd follow."

I fought an eye roll. _Really now? As if Rangemen never get stared at. These guys took overreaction to whole new levels._ "Okay. So some one was looking at us. What do you propose we do about it?"

"We wait." He leaned farther over me, hiding his face to the side of mine, and discreetly pulled out his phone and dialed. "This is Santos. I'm with Plum and we've got a shadow." He gave out the address and a description of the man. "There's a car on the way," he relayed to me when they disconnected. "They'll get a closer look and tail our tail if they need to."

"So we're just going to stand here like this?"

"Sure," I felt a tiny, silent laugh rumble against the palm of my hand where it still rested on his chest, "It's cozy." We were quiet for several drawn out minutes, our eyes adjusting to the dim light of the gangway, both watching closely for any moving shadows. Then I noticed Lester focus his gaze on the way I was biting my lip. I couldn't tell if it was the low light or the long night, but his eyes looked tired and doleful as he moved closer still, leaning his forearm on the wall beside my head as he asked, "What are you thinking now?"

_How disappointed Susanna's going to be when I take your 'little partner' out of commission._ "I think that if someone is watching us, it stands to reason they know who we are and what we're here to do, making this entire charade unnecessary. We should have called in, but then just gone ahead with our pick-up like normal and pretended we hadn't noticed him."

"Maybe, but it's too late now. It was hasty defense. Like I said, I didn't see him right away."

"And when you did, your first instinct was to drag me into a dark corner and plaster me against the wall?"

"My first instinct was to get out of sight and step between you and any danger as quickly as possible." We lost eye contact as Lester let his head tip slightly to the side and gently rest his temple against my own in a somewhat feline gesture. The movement surprised me more than it would have if he had kissed me. "Instincts are underrated and have very little to do with reasoning. The bottom line is that the instant you see the blade or hear the shot or feel the impact, it doesn't matter what you were thinking the second before. The only thing that matters is what you do in the second that follows. Planning is well and good, but plans get scrapped all the time; disciplined training doesn't. I reacted. And then I stopped to think." I wished I could have seen his face as he spoke. His last words were quiet and sounded as if they'd been drawn from him against his will. "If you put too much energy into stressing and worrying about something beforehand, your nerves could fail you when it counts."

I wasn't really following him, but it felt like whatever he was trying to say was important and I wanted to understand it all. "First, I get lectured for acting without thinking. Then, you tell me I'm thinking too much. Les, tell me just what the hell am I _supposed_ to be thinking right now?"

"You need to find the middle ground. Be smart, but don't go crazy. Over-analysis is as dangerous as thoughtlessness. If you let yourself get stuck in your own head, that's a problem. I need you out here with me."

"Well, Confucius," I said, my eyes still searching the street, "while you were busy proctoring, a four hundred pound man in a bathrobe walked by with a Pomeranian and an old woman in curlers – who probably has my mother on speed dial by the way – came outside to pretend to look for a lost cat while she tries to get a better gander at whatever it is we're doing."

"This must look interesting."

"Are you kidding? We've made her day."

Lester's phone buzzed and he answered it, "Santos." He looked serious for a second, nodding his head, then abruptly disconnected. "All clear."

"No red sedan?"

"They spotted a man fitting his description a few streets down and picked up his trail. They're looking into it."

"I did see Cal as he cruised by. I think he saw us too, because he nearly sideswiped the SRX."

Lester led the way as we finally headed in our skips' direction, both of us considerably more alert now than we'd been only fifteen minutes ago. "I'll make this quick," he told me.

I watched as he walked a few steps ahead, strutting like he was about to take candy from a baby, didn't care who knew, and was going to enjoy every second. "That's one hell of a swagger you've got there. Do you give lessons in that too or do you limit yourself to vaguely manipulative homilies, because you look like you could teach Travolta a thing or two."

He laughed, "I think you might turn out to be even more fun than Tank."

"Vaccinations are more fun than Tank."

"Beautiful," he deadpanned, "you obviously don't know Tank very well."

That wasn't completely true. I was getting to know Tank. I had had enough _general_ interactions with Tank to get a _general_ impression. And _generally_, he wasn't fun. He was really bossy and pushy and rude. He didn't like nonsense or excuses. He was good at his job, but not perfect. When he did finally speak he was very vocal and didn't give hints. Even if he had a false start, Tank always tried to say exactly what he meant. Which, if you think about it, meant that on the occasion or two when he did make a joke and laugh, it seemed all the more joyous and funny. And if anyone ever found a way to bottle his laughter, they'd make millions. I guess he was sort of fun in his own way… but case in point, I still didn't know his name. So how close could we really be?

Lester, on the other hand, was a perplexing midge to whom I suspected I was somehow now very disconcertingly tethered. He rang the bell, unbuttoned another button on his shirt, and ran a hand over his head as if he had enough hair to adjust its style. "Good?" he asked.

I didn't have enough time to answer him before the door cracked open. "Hello?"

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Bobby was just finishing Woody's stitches when the tap came on the door of RangeMan's medical suite. Ram was slumped against the wall, ice bandaged to his ribs, waiting for Bobby to look at the films he'd had taken at the hospital. The radiology technician had said there wasn't anything broken, but RangeMan policy required he get checked out by Brown before he could be cleared for work. "Come in," Bobby called.

Colt stuck his head in the door and asked, "What do I do about this detective on the phone? He's impatient as hell. The Boss is on the line with Cal about Plum's problem, not to be interrupted, but the cop keeps demanding to talk to him. You're the next senior man on shift."

Bobby grimaced. _Son of a bitch. I do not liaise with the local authorities. It's Ric's damn job, but he's too busy micromanaging some nothing of a problem that any one of the men could easily handle on his own_. "Did he tell you what it's about?"

"It's about Amado."

Ram stood up straighter. "He did live, didn't he? The hospital reported he was stable."

"Yeah, he'll make it. The problem is that his name isn't Amado and he isn't a druggie, low-life. He's an undercover Fed."

"Shit," Bobby and Ram both muttered at the same time.

Woody asked, "Who's the cop then? The Feds should be handling it if he's one of theirs." They all knew that depending on who the detective was, this was either a 'heads up' call or a 'your thug ass really did it this time' call.

"Some asshole named Morelli."

"Fuck," all of the other men practically shouted. This call was definitely of the latter variety.

Colt looked around the room. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"You have to go get Ranger for that call," Bobby answered with a frown, shaking his head, "Interrupt him if you have to."

"Why?"

"That's Stephanie's boyfriend."

"What?" Colt asked, clearly shocked. "I thought that – "

"Don't even ask," Woody cut him off.

"I'm not talking to Morelli," Bobby stated emphatically. "I don't want to get anywhere near that shit storm."

Ram slumped back to the wall again with a groan. "At least I'm pretty sure if it comes to it, she'll take our side. Right?" he asked the room with more hope than certainty.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Lester made sure that his 'you-know-you-want-me' grin was the first thing visible when the door opened. His head was slightly lowered, both minimizing any perceived threat his size might provoke and letting his gaze showcase the long, dark lashes that could draw anyone into the verdant pools of desire the genetic gods had gifted him. It was a useful technique. I wish I could do that. I don't think Calokis even noticed that there was another person standing beside him. I could have been naked and yodeling and she still would have been locked in her Santos-Stupor.

"Amber?"

She was tall, gangly, and had the slightly slumped posture of a girl five years younger with self-image issues. Outwardly, she looked like she might have an extensive collection of glass figurines that she named and had conversations with, but if the police reports were any indication, she was the kind of girl who groped night club bouncers and showed off her panties to the traffic waiting at red lights. "Yes…"

"Ms. Amber Calokis?" Oh, he was good. He even rolled the 'r' and let Spanish vowels and a faint hint of ceceo creep into his speech. It was dead sexy.

She was a little breathless when she answered. "That's me."

"Hi."

"Hi," she sighed in a way that told me she was fighting the weakness in her knees.

"My name is Lester Santos." He extended his hand for hers, and in an impressive maneuver, used his grip on it to subtly move her backwards as he inched inside the door. "Please forgive the intrusion; I know it's late. But if you're available, I'd love to talk to you for just a few minutes."

"Uh-huh," was all she could manage.

"Amber?" Jenna called out from several rooms away, alerted by the sound of voices, or the cold night air we were letting into the house, or maybe she was just irresistibly drawn in by Lester's recently activated super animal magnetism powers. I didn't know nor did I care. I was concentrating on the much more important fact that if she came close enough to the door we would have both targets within a reasonable distance for a plausible capture-by-force. "Tell me you didn't just open our front door to a strang – " Her voice trailed off as she rounded the corner into the hall and caught sight of the visitor who'd already finagled his dashing way into her house and her daughter's good graces. "Oh, excuse me," she said, as equally breathless as Amber. _Geez, she doesn't even glance in my direction but she apologizes to Lester for interrupting his late night imposition on her daughter?_ That's the exact moment when I realized that I must have never, in fact, been subjected to the full radiance of Lester's 'game.' He told jokes and played with me, but he was _enchanting_ these women and I'll be damned if it wasn't powerful enough to give me a contact buzz.

"No, excuse me, Ms. Mault. I was just explaining to Amber that we'd like to take a minute of your time to have a word with you both."

"Sure," she took his offered hand and motioned to the room behind her, inviting him even farther into her home. He followed her through the doorway and stopped short at the sight of something off to his right. I couldn't see what it was, but the mixture of horror and joy on his face gave me the chills. Then I heard a shaky, wheezing voice that gave me a big clue as to what he'd been confronted with in the next room.

"Who's the big buck with handcuffs in his pocket?" She sounded even more salacious than Grandma Mazur. "Did you girls get another stripper? Whoo-wee! I get to watch this time and he looks like he's got a lot to show us. I gotta get my Polaroid."

Trying to keep my laughter discrete as I stepped into the room, I didn't get to see the woman before she disappeared in search of her camera, but I heard her feet hurriedly shuffling away toward the far end of the house. It sounded like she was excited. And she did have one unexpected effect on the occasion; the Santos spell was now broken.

Jenna stepped in front of her daughter with her eyes suspiciously trained on Lester, her hesitation obvious as she asked, "Handcuffs?" Amber, however, looked like she took more after her grandmother than her mother, and wanted to see what Lester might do with those cuffs.

"Go ahead, Les," I laughed and nudged him in the back. "Get your nightstick and read them their rights."

Finally aware of my presence, Jenna glanced at me and pulled a dramatic double take. "Oh god."

"What?" Amber peeked around her mother and her eyes grew exponentially larger when they landed on me. "Holy crap!"

"You have to get out of my house." Jenna's fear of Lester's cuffs was nothing compared to the dread I apparently inspired.

"You have to go." Amber was eyeing the hall to her right. "Like, right now!"

"Why?" Lester's voice was hard and mechanic. He'd reached behind him and had one hand on his weapon. He stepped to the side, placing himself between me and the hall. I had the urge to shout_ 'RangeMan Alert!'_ Commando Lester was now on the scene and I found myself reacting in a similar way, feeling on edge from all of the other minor alerts we'd had already. My back was fully to the wall and I was keeping it there no matter what.

"We're bond enforcement," I announced. The 'charm them out the door' approach wasn't going to work anymore anyway.

"I know that. You're Stephanie Plum and you have to leave. You can't be here."

"No way," I was not about to be rushed away from this capture. This trip had already been too great a pain in the ass. I'd hoped that this would go quick and easy, but if it didn't, I was ready to pull some hair to get them in the car. "We're not leaving without you."

"Then we'll come with," Amber stage whispered.

Jenna was pulling her daughter behind her and trying to usher us all towards the door. "If we're quick enough, we can get out before they know she's here."

"Before who knows?" Lester asked.

"Don't you want to change or at least get your bags or wallets?" I scanned the women. They were both wearing t-shirts and sweats for bed and they were in their stocking feet. "You don't even have shoes on."

"Shit," Jenna said, distractedly scrambling to find her purse, snatching up a pair of worn, dirty sneakers and shoving her feet into them untied. "Amber, get my purse."

"Wait a minute. Nobody move," Lester ordered forcefully. "We're not going anywhere until I know what you're talking about."

There was a bright flash of light from the hall that drew everyone's attention and I felt time stop as I watched the ancient camera eject its prize with a gentle whir of moving parts. As soon as I saw her my gut knew what I was I looking at, but it was taking my brain significantly longer to catch up. She was larger than Grandma Mazur – the Bea Arthur to her Estelle Getty; taller, older, and a hell of a lot more intimidating – or in my case, traumatizing. She was wearing a bright, violet, bedazzled sweatshirt with a screen-printed image on the front and a logo that consisted of sets of handcuffs that spelled out two matching capital letter B's superimposed over a pair of guns crossed at the barrels. The picture was of me, my face wreathed in wild curls and flames. I wanted to vomit when I recognized that it wasn't a doctored photo they'd used. All they'd done was crop it a bit.

_Ohmigod_. The Bombshell Brigade has its own apparel. I went dumb with shock. This was nothing like I'd imagined. It was so much worse. _Was I going to have to sue them for royalties?_

"Henry! HENNRRRYYY!" she shouted, excitedly waving her developing instant photo in the air around her. "It's Stephanie! Stephanie Plum is here! And she brought us a stripper!"

_And it just kept getting worse_. Jenna stood beside me slouched in defeat and mumbled a crestfallen apology, "I'm so sorry for what's about to happen." It gave me goosebumps. All too well, I recognized in her a comrade of familial indignities.

"What's about to happen?" Lester demanded. I put a hand on his arm to steady his rising gall. Impatient Rangemen could be scary and sometimes unpredictable.

His question was answered by swift, heavy steps on the staircase. An old man pranced into the room, energetically awkward, like Bob Fosse with gout. "What are you shouting about, Rose?" He was in big, white, cotton boxers old enough to have witnessed major world events and a t-shirt with the words 'Bombshell Security Force' on it. "Well if that doesn't boot the fiddler," he exclaimed as he recognized me, "Stephanie Plum at our own house." He rushed forward, grabbed hold of my hand, and made me hesitate long enough to doubt my future as a Rangeman if I couldn't stop this old man from getting a hold of me... "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself."

"Mom, Dad, please act like normal people for once" Jenna whined.

"You're quite the looker, much prettier than Edna told us," Henry continued. "I bet you turn heads when you aren't cracking skulls, don't you?" _What exactly has Grandma Mazur been telling these people?_

"Are you going to come to our next meeting," Rose asked. "We have a lot of ideas for you." _Meetings?_ "Let me get my papers so I can show you our plans." _Plans?_ The fleeting image of me trying to explain to a judge why I needed restraining orders against a dozen senior citizens rolled through my mind. It wouldn't be the strangest thing I'd ever had to do. _How demoralizing is that thought?_

Rose turned as if to leave again, but Jenna seized her to prevent her exit. "She doesn't have time. They're busy people. It's late and we need to get going." She tried again to usher us towards the door where Amber was waiting with a queasy look on her face, one foot already over the threshold and her mother's coat and gloves in her hands. This might be the one and only time I ever had skips who were more anxious than I was to complete a pick-up.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Mault chided, "I want to take a picture with her. It will only take a minute. You don't mind, do you Bombshell?"

I didn't get a chance to answer before they were all arguing again. "I want to see the stripper," Henry declared.

"He's not going to strip."

"I've never seen a man shake it naked before. I bet it's interesting."

"For god's sake, they're here to take Amber and me to jail."

But her parents weren't listening. "Here, you take it," Mrs. Mault shoved the camera into Lester's hands. "Come here, Henry."

His cold and fragile hands still held mine. "Would you autograph it for us?" he asked as he and his wife took up positions on either side of me.

"Make sure you get our shirts in the picture." Mrs. Mault preened for the camera. She was standing to my left, posing James Bond style, miming that she was holding a gun. Henry was on my other side, continuing to shake my hand like I was granting him a ceremonial key to the city.

I shot Lester a distressed plea with my eyes. But he only smiled back at me like Christmas had come early. _Damn him_. This was an unanticipated event and my partner was supposed to have my back. Instead, it looked like he was ready to join in with my tormenters. "Say cheese."

"Oh, heaven's no," I gasped as he raised the camera to his eye. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, hell's yes," he replied. "I would."

At the exact moment Lester pressed the shutter button, Henry took liberties with my glutes. My feelings about it were obvious and involuntary, immortalized on acid polymers, me with wide eyes and gaping maw, trapped in a psychologically scarring embrace by two wizened, grinning Bombshell enthusiasts. _If Lester only knew what I was thinking now… he'd run._

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Colt knocked on Ranger's office door and interrupted just as Cal was in the process of reporting that the mysterious red sedan had been seized and impounded by authorities the previous week as proceeds of a criminal enterprise; mainly tax evasion and insurance fraud. Ranger held up a stalling finger, finishing his call with Cal, "find out how it ended up back on the street and who was driving it." Whoever the man had been, they couldn't say for sure if he'd been following Lester and Stephanie, but he had detected and lost his RangeMan tail, which made him worth taking a closer look.

Colt waited patiently for Ranger's attention before speaking. "An angry cop named Morelli is on line three," he relayed.

Ranger nodded his understanding and dismissed Colt with a wave of his hand and a clipped, "I'll take it in here." He had been expecting the call, sure that news of the night's shooting was whipping around town at breakneck speed. Taking a moment to steel himself first, he picked-up the phone, "Morelli."

Joe didn't pretend at civility or even bother with a greeting. "You lost some friends and made some enemies tonight."

"None that matter." Ranger had figured as much already. RangeMan's relationship with Trenton PD had always been tenuous at best. Highlighting the local narcotics unit's ingnorance, both of the fact that large deals were being made in town and that a federal agency was operating within their jurisdiction unnoticed, wasn't something that would garner affection from anyone at TPD.

"Tell me she wasn't involved."

Ranger had expected that demand as well. He'd heard it enough times before to know that Morelli always assumed the worst when it came to Stephanie and never had any qualms about jumping to conclusions about him or his men. "It has nothing to do with her," he recited his usual answer to Morelli's standard inquery.

"People are starting to pay closer attention. For her own good, she needs to watch her step from now on."

"Noted," Ranger remarked with a tighter, frustrated grip on the phone. A colder reception from the police was something Stephanie might have to learn to accept if she became a Rangeman.

"Now she's over there; she's your responsibility." _Right there. Those words_. That was the reason why deep, deep down Ranger could never quite manage to convince himself fully that Stephanie was better off with Morelli; the implications that lay beneath such statements, the dismissal of her abilities and potential.

"She's a big girl," he asnwered, knowing beyond all doubt that if she could hear the exchange, Stephanie would be just as angry at his response as she'd be with Morelli's pronouncement.

"You really are one cold-hearted son of a bitch, Manoso."

"Are you done?"

Morelli's voice came back quieter, hard and measured, almost robotic. "He has three kids, ages five to nine. That's old enough to remember the night their daddy didn't came home from work." Then he hung up.

Ranger let the receiver fall from his ear and stared down at the phone, cradled loosley in a hand which had so recently been coated and sticky with an innocent man's blood.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Robin Russell's desk was a big, rusty monstrosity tucked away at the far, dim corner of the squad room, beneath the light that perpetually flickered and the rattling vent that thickened the air around it with Freon vapor and the transported odor of the station's basement storage lockers. Older than her, for years before she was on the force, it had been the station's unofficial spare desktop and all around litter magnet. It was only ever assigned to greenhorns and scapegoats. Even so, it was better than having to share with Maglio and was as private a workspace she could expect to get without being promoted and given her own office.

Discretely scanning the labrynth of desks and filing cabinets in the station's bullpen, Officer Lindstrom double checked that no one was within hearing distance as he dialed the phone on Russell's desk. He typed in the pager code and waited nervously for the call to be returned. Russell was gone for the night, but she had plenty of friends that wouldn't hesitate to tell her that they'd seen him sitting at her desk. When the call did come, he snatched it up before the first ring was finished. "Lindstrom."

"Is it done?" the caller asked without preface.

Earlier that night he'd been shocked to check his messages and hear that distinct, smooth voice for the first time in more than six years. Those long ago days were far removed from the man he was today, but the voice was exactly as he remembered, all at once familiar, as if they'd only seen each other the day before, and just as demanding and impatient as it ever was. When he was given his current assignment, Lindstrom's handler had been adamant that once he was 'transferred' into the department he was to keep his head down while he was in Trenton. He was not to garner attention or actively reconnoiter. His instructions were to establish himself and be ready to get his mission orders from his contact at any time. But he had little choice other than to concede a tiny deviation from his original orders. He'd hardly forgotten that he owed an important favor and couldn't refuse the request when a past associate decided to cash in on a long held debt. "Yeah, I did it. Just like you asked."

"Any response?"

He scoffed at the smooth, adroit voice on the line. "They spotted me right away. I knew they would. Then, I was tailed for a while, but I think I managed to lose them."

"Good," the caller commended.

"Not really. I'm sure they got the tag number."

"Were _you_ recognized?"

"No, but the car I used was signed out from the motor pool." Lindstrom couldn't fathom why his obvious detection was an upside in this instance. These were not people that you'd ever want to suspect you of aggressive or suspicious, untoward behavior. "It isn't a long walk to get from the tag to me. Manoso has more than enough resources to make the connection."

"Don't worry about it. I can take care of that."

That was hard for him to believe, but it wouldn't be the first time Lindstrom was mysteriously saved from all but certain exposure by some invisible source higher up the chain. He was used to being kept in the dark. It was just part of the work, always had been and always would be. He learned to live with that a long time ago. "Are we straight then?"

"Not yet. I'll be calling again."

Lindstrom frowned as the line disconnected. He had no idea why he had been asked to tail the subjects. He hadn't even originally known who it was he was being asked to follow, but it had only taken him one look to recognize who they were. Debt or not, he couldn't afford to risk many more favors like that. Despite his only recent transfer, he already knew that if there was anything that might earn him unwanted notice at TPD, it was getting involved with Stephanie Plum. And risking his big job to pay back small favors was not something he was prepared to do.

As he double checked that he hadn't disturbed the desk and that everything was left in the place where he found it, he spied the stack of reports. The name shrieked and jumped out at him like a cat that's been tossed in an icy bathtub. Russell had pages of materials that included mention after mention of Stephanie Plum, including details of events in which she had only cursory involvement. He leafed through a few of the papers, noting the dates and the other parties involved in a wide variety of incidents, some as recent as that week. Lindstrom had no personal interest in any of it and knew that he was dangerously overstepping his purview, but if information on Plum would settle his score from the past and keep him from jeopardizing his work in Trenton, then he'd make sure he had some to offer when the next call came. He knew how to hide documents and was even better at keeping secrets. So after several covert trips to the copier, he had duplicates of everything. He'd need a day or two to stash them, but once he did, he would have hard copies at the ready whenever he needed them.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

I dragged my feet across my dark apartment, too tired to bother with formalities like lights switches or laundry hampers. I stripped off my clothes and slipped into one of Ranger's t-shirts. I was too exhausted to do anything except flop face-down, spread-eagled on the bed. It's a shame that this is my traditional thinking position, because it was _so_ comfortable, but the very last thing I wanted to do was think. Too much alone time in my own head always seemed to fuel some sort of future tumult. Lester had been right on that count; I was really better off limiting the time I spent in there. Instead, I decided to send my mind off somewhere else entirely and started to mentally review all of the incredibly dry, technical, procedural tidbits that Hal had been teaching me lately. It worked better than counting sheep. Then again, counting sheep never really did work for me anyway.

I wasn't quite asleep when I sensed Ranger's arrival. Turning over, I saw him come into the room the next second. He walked straight over to me, bending to kiss me quickly before standing and pulling off his shirt. I could just make out his face in the moment it took him to toe off his boots. "You're tired," I stated, hoping, but not actually expecting, to get a response.

He didn't answer. He just slipped into bed. I was on my back and he half covered me with his own body, tightly wrapping one arm around my waist and resting his head on my chest. I had a mental flash of a small, mocha-toned little boy with his favorite stuffed animal. He must have been exhausted. I pulled his hair loose and asked, "What happened?"

His answer was muffled against my chest, "a few problems, it's fine."

"Are you hurt?" I ran my hands down his bare back, checking for superficial injuries, and then rubbed wide, deep circles over his shoulders, smoothing out the tension I found there. His appreciative groan vibrated through me and as his muscles eased beneath my touch, I felt the hot breath of his sigh penetrate the thin cotton of my shirt. He gave his head a minor shake in the negative. "And the others," I asked.

He was quiet, but his breathing told me he wasn't yet asleep. After a while he spoke softly. "There were some shots fired, but we got our guys. Ram has bruised ribs and Woody needed stitches."

I could have sworn that there was something more bothering him. To Ranger, those injuries were just bumps and scrapes. "That's all?"

This pause was even longer than the last, almost enough time for me to nod off. But when he did speak it was much more informative than I'd anticipated. "There were more men at the scene than we expected. The one who Ram shot in self defense wasn't supposed to be there; he was undercover DEA."

"Oh Ranger, I'm sorry." I ran one hand through his hair and caressed the arm that was around me with the other. "Is he alright?"

"He'll make a full recovery," he answered right away this time, I assumed having decided that since he'd already told me this much he might as well tell me what else I wanted to know, "but the whole thing is a mess. We've always cooperated with the DEA. If we'd have known he was going to be there, we would have coordinated, but he never identified himself." He adjusted his position against me as if restless for one which offered more comfort, finally stilling again as he nearly whispered, "It shouldn't have happened."

It was surprising that he'd admit that to me. I was still getting used to hearing more than monosyllabic responses from him and that made this seem like an outright confession. Again, I felt compelled to give him meaningful words in return for the gesture of trust. I wanted to know that I'd solaced him in some way, like he always has done for me. "It wasn't your fault. They had to know that those men were wanted and could be picked up any moment. You weren't the one who was careless." When he didn't show any sign of response I continued, "I know you can handle this. You'll make it right. You always do, don't you?"

He pulled my hand off his arm and grazed a short trail of kisses up my wrist. "Babe."

"Maybe," I paused, hesitating, telling myself that this was a perfectly normal suggestion, I wasn't being intrusive, and to just spit it out. "Maybe you should sleep at your place tomorrow night." Before I could get out the next bit and finish voicing my thoughts, I felt him stiffen in my arms. "You're going to be swamped. You don't need to be wasting your time over here."

Still without looking at me, he fisted the side of my t-shirt in his hand. "Stephanie." It was the faintest whisper.

"I have the late shift. If you'd like, I can come up after that." He lifted his head and examined my face with an inscrutable expression. I smiled, "and I'll get to have an Ella breakfast." But he didn't smile back. He stared, the intensity vibrant even in the dark room. His silence was making me nervous that I had crossed a line and assumed too much. "You've been coming here every night and Lester had trouble finding you once when he needed you for something important. I was just thinking that it might make things easier for you if you didn't have to leave Haywood." I couldn't decide how to interpret the light in his eye; wonder, disbelief, insult, incomprehension, maybe appall? "Of course if you don't want, I don't have to – " He cut me off with another delicate kiss, short and to the point. He said so much with just his kisses; his lips could speak without words. And if I was getting this one right, it was a 'thank you.' One that I didn't think was necessary. It wasn't anything he wouldn't do for me.

Then he nestled his head back into my chest with another heavy sigh and we both finally drifted into oblivion together.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

It was so late; it was early. The holding cells were still filling with the odd drunk driver or domestic disputer, but the atmosphere was more composed as the others either passed out or sobered up. Some of the men had been relocated, splitting the group up following an altercation. Too energized to sleep from the recent excitement, a small throng of ignorant young men were keeping awake the middle-aged, 'rock bottom' set with their hoodlum version of gossip.

"Keyshawn told him all 'bout her," one teen said. "He was ragging on how the bitch took out the Slayers."

A blond kid in baggy, dirty clothes that looked like they were about to swallow him whole added the wise, if almost incomprehensible, "Dat shit's gonna git back to da man in black and he gon' kill somebody."

"It ain't nuttin' wit me," said a third man, older and angrier than the others. "You keep yo mouf shut an' ain't 'nufin' they kin do. Keyshawn be on his own wit'em."

A silver-haired gentleman in a rumpled, but expensive suit and a poorly constructed bandage over his left ear interjected, "You're all too stupid to avoid trouble if it's looking for you. So just do the rest of us a favor and go to sleep."

Tempers rose again in a fraction of a second. "You want sleep, motha fucker, I'll give it."

"If that threat was more coherent I might actually be concerned."

"You candy ass faggot – " one of the younger men spat, jumping to his feet and balling his fist.

He didn't get to finish his thought. There was a man, heretofore quiet and unnoticed by all, who struck out a firm, authoritative arm to intervene in the confrontation and addressed the group as a whole, "You're all fucking crazy." He gave the hot-headed youth a shove back. "Weren't you listening? Keyshawn was drunk, that man wasn't interested in Plum, and this same shit was what brought on the guards last time."

Overhearing everything from his spot in the corner where he was pretending to sleep, Augustus' eyes snapped open.

"Oh yeah, why he be askin' all 'bout her then?" said one of the younger ones.

The mystery man looked at the kid, his disappointment in humanity undisguised. "He was asking questions about her boss. And if he's stupid enough to pick a fight with him, it's a good idea to forget you know anything about it at all. Now _everyone_ shut the fuck up;" which they finally did.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


	19. Chapter 19

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter ****1****9**

Ranger woke first, long before the alarm, emerging from a deep, dreamless, restorative sleep. He felt Stephanie breathing beneath him and pulled her closer, loving the way it felt to wake up to her. He held her for several minutes, not thinking, just feeling her. What he didn't realize, in his hedonic moment, was that Stephanie was also awake, roused when Ranger started to unconsciously trace lazy patterns on her hip. With his eyes closed and his mind clear of everything but his contact with her, he let his fingers crawl beneath her shirt until his hand caressed the breast he wasn't using as a pillow.

The resulting change in her breathing finally detected, but her smile unseen, she murmured sleepily, "Well, good morning to you too."

He kneaded her flesh once with more strength and purpose before removing his hand from its preferred home. Shifting their bodies so that he hovered above her, he studied her face and whispered, "very good," through his kiss.

Stephanie gave up control, letting him direct the languid kissing as deep and long as he wanted. Out of all the various personas she'd encountered through the years, this newly discovered early morning version of Ranger was quickly becoming her favorite. Curiously tranquil and good-humored, she was sure that this was a side of him that not many people ever see and she was beginning to realize that it was because of moments like this, and those of the night before, that she was gradually learning to read Ranger like most people never would. The thought warmed her in ways that she didn't want to end. "I don't want to get up," she complained against his lips.

"I was thinking the same thing," he told her as he made his way across her jaw, down her neck, pulling her collar over to access her shoulder.

Stephanie's body moved of its own volition, arching into his touch and against his warm, hard chest and the thigh pressed into the mattress between her own. That familiar rosy fog began to roll in and take over, swirling hope and fear and lust all around her. The touch of his mouth made it hard to think over the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. _What are we doing?_ She swept her hand up his neck to grip the hair on the back of his head, unsure whether it was to hold him there or pull him away. If he indulged himself and then pulled back again, leaving her wanting, she didn't think she could handle it, not after yesterday's heat, not after the way they'd held each other during the night. "Ranger," she sighed, trying not to be swept under the waves of desire he unfailingly summoned, "please don't start this if you have no intention of following through." She wanted to scream when his kissing halted, but as she clung to him in frustration her voice was only a wavering breath, "It's not fair anymore."

With his cheek still nuzzled against hers, he took another deep, drink of her scent. "Babe."

"To either of us." She loosened her grip on him and turned her head away, pinching her lids closed, too hurt and desperate and confused by what was happening between them to confront the moment head on.

"You're right," he said as he rolled to lay beside her, feeling her shiver slightly at the loss. Ranger looked over at her averted face.

His gaze was like a physical force, even heavier than the weight of his body "It's okay," she quietly assured, pulling the blanket higher and tighter around herself, suddenly feeling uncomfortably exposed.

Bitter guilt and regret washed away what there was of Ranger's contented morning glow. "Is it?"

"Really, it's fine. We should get up anyway." She sat up and leaned over him. "Let's go bust a punk who's got it coming."

Her usually brilliant smile didn't quite reach her eyes when they finally met his again, and there was only a minor note of laughter in her voice. It sounded forced to his ears, which had grown so accustomed to her unapologetic sincerity. Ranger knew that that wasn't what she wanted to say or what she was thinking. It was merely a brave front to hide what churned beneath the surface. He wanted to rip it away as he felt it form between them, angry with himself for having caused it and furious at the rational part of his mind that was telling him it was probably for the best. Every time he was with her lately, he caught himself pushing the boundaries he'd set a long time ago and which were already strained to their limits where Stephanie was concerned. If his resolve was faltering, he knew that it was a good thing her judgment wasn't. Now all he had to do was find a way to convince the rest of his body to believe it too. He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair as he swept aside a section of swinging curls from where it obscured her face. The almost imperceptible change in her expression told him that the simple touch had as much of an effect on her as it did on him. He could already feel the distance she'd thrown between them beginning to shrink again. "He won't know what hit him."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

RangeMan, New York was a satellite location of the Trenton branch office. Housed in a secure parking structure at the edge of Lincoln Square, it was six floors of parking that stood atop the ground floor, where offices, meeting rooms, and central dispatch were located. Below ground there was a level of parking for the RangeMan fleet and another sublevel with several small, temporary residential units used for company personnel and emergency client safe houses. RMNY offered only two of the broad assortment of services provided by the branch offices, high security parking leases and personal security details. Essentially, RMNY was an operation of drivers and bodyguards.

"Did you see these new assessments?" It was nearing the time for the early morning briefing at RMNY. Pits was rereading some of Stephanie's latest desk work product with mild disbelief. Strategy and planning were his domain; he worked with clients to unobtrusively, but effectively, incorporate personal protection into their daily lives, while Bo handled logistics and made sure the day to day of RMNY ran smoothly. And Stephanie's insights were contradicting most of the work they'd been doing the past six months. "These aren't small changes. She's recommending an overhaul on these two clients." He handed the pages over to Bo, who didn't seem nearly as interested in any of it.

Considered tall and strapping, even by RangeMan standards, Bo's mere presence had an imposing effect on everyone in his immediate vicinity. Close eyes, a square, jutting chin, and a stub nose which appeared to have been broken more than once, gave him a bulldog-like countenance and, combined with his stature, equipped him with all he needed to be a potent deterrent to would-be assailants. But his nature was as affable as his appearance was intimidating. A rarity in the company, he was a Rangeman without a 'blank face.' His laughter was downright jolly and was often heard echoing from a distance through the parking structure's acoustics.

"Isn't she the woman Ranger is sweet on?" He had a gentle voice with a prominent Canadian raising and old-fashioned tendencies that sometimes put him at odds with his fellow Rangemen.

"Yeah, that's her. I looked her up after Silvio's memo about his replacement." Pits was one of the oldest men on the RangeMan roster and certainly the oldest Rangeman involved in field work. Short, lithe, and toned, more grace than strength, he was another atypical figure at the company. A sprinkle of silver brightened his otherwise jet black hair. Crow's feet, laugh lines, and sun weathered skin added to the effect and openly displayed his many years of demanding physical labor. Baptized by fire on the front lines in Vietnam, he'd been a military man since his eighteenth birthday, climbing through the ranks to eventually become a highly decorated officer for the Army's Green Berets. Having done his duty over the years in some of the most violent and inhospitable corners of the globe, Pits had welcomed the opportunity to join RangeMan when it came along. Recognizing the limitations of his aging body, but not ready for retirement, the position at RMNY was an ideal fit for him. "She has a good record, and I think I might have known her father at one time."

"How?"

"Highway 19, I think." Pits drummed his fingers on the tabletop and frowned in thought. "Met him in Qui Nhon, unless I've got him confused with someone else. The guy I'm thinking of went by 'Shuttle'; no one called him Plum."

That was enough to peak Bo's interest. "Did you look _him_ up?"

"Nah. I only knew him in passing and I don't really care who her father is; she's the one we're working with."

"I heard she's great," Bo shrugged. He was a lot like Junior in that he trusted in the rank and order of the organization and didn't do a lot of second guessing. Every man did his job, disagreements were settled according to seniority, and if Ranger and Tank made a decision, then it was final. It was a demeanor that made him well-liked and rarely stressed.

Pits, on the other hand, was traveled enough to know that even good people with good intentions can make mistakes. "Well, I'd still rather talk to her before I start adjusting details."

"What do you think," Bo asked, "a ride along?"

"Ideally," Pits agreed as he gathered up the daily assignments and notices on his way to the meeting room. "I'll call Trenton. I'm going to need Ranger's go ahead on all of this."

"Dollars to doughnuts you get the green light on that right away," Bo chuckled as he followed.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

As Ranger cut the engine, Stephanie frowned, "It's still a shit hole." They both examined the street with a hint of nostalgia. Dodd's house looked just as it had the last time they'd been there, except of course for the family of cats that had moved into the abandoned washing machine. It gave the place a bit more life than it had had years earlier. At least the new kittens seemed friendly.

What an awful day that had been. Ranger could still hear the way her shoes had squished as she ran towards him through the rain. She'd looked like a drowned rat; cold, scurrying, and too scared to make eye contact. But she was the sexiest rat he'd ever seen. On the day in question he'd assumed that she'd done it on purpose, but he knew now that she must not have had any idea he could see every stitch of the baby blue, lace bra she'd been wearing. That t-shirt and thunderstorm were one damn happy coincidence; she hadn't even looked that wet and exposed when he'd found her in the shower. He'd known he was right about Stephanie the second he'd pulled over and saw that she was still driving around town in Morelli's Jeep. She was a potential sort of trouble that he didn't really need, but he certainly wasn't about to turn down an easy piece. She looked like a good one too, good enough to brave the rain and play the hero a little while longer. As he had gotten her third call for help, he'd told Hector not to expect him back on Cameron that night; he was going to seal the deal and then shake her loose. Bobby was the only one he ever told about the handcuffs in the shower and as he watched her rain-soaked shirt shivering and jiggling in front of him, he'd figured Brown wasn't going to believe this tale either. Based on his limited experiences with her, he'd determined that she was intelligent, independent, and preoccupied with more important things than him, not the type of woman who'd leave him a ton of voicemails and expect him to send her flowers just because he slept with her. She'd seemed like a great 'Ms. Right Now For the Night' and as long as she could keep it to herself, he had thought she might even make a pretty good 'Ms. Every Few Weeks or So.' It'd been a while since he'd known a woman with whom he felt he could trust enough to have a casual arrangement.

Ranger was pulled back to the present by the metallic click-clicking of bullets knocking against each other in the palm of Stephanie's hand. She was checking her gun. She had her Maglite and her stun gun ready, strapped to her belt, full battle gear. He wanted to smile as she dug a second set of handcuffs out of her purse and offhandedly offered him one of them.

"Babe." He had his own cuffs, but it was cute that she still did those things; treated him alternately as a superhero and an amateur. The fretting and double checking was a nervous habit he remembered from the first time they'd done this, but everything else about the trip couldn't be more different. Hell, he was certainly different. _'Ms. Every Few Months,' what an arrogant prick._

"As much as I'd like to see his face when he opens the door and finds you," she told him as she finished up all of her belt snapping and vest velcroing and hopped out of the car, "I'm going to go around back and hope he comes running out at me. Shout and scare him the way you did last time."

"Stephanie," his gut twisted slightly when he recalled exactly how big even the scrawny Dodd had looked on the ground next to Stephanie the last time she tackled him, "nothing crazy this time."

"This is going to be good," she half giggled as she slipped on her SEALs hat. "This time I have a partner." She was already headed around the side of the house with a radiant smile, one which didn't look forced.

Ranger stared after her, having one of those moments when a person sees his life flash before his eyes in a way that doesn't garner dread, but rather realigns the pieces, like finally finding that missing instruction leaflet that shows you how the lego blocks are supposed to fit together to build that damn castle you could never figure out.

The memories were so clear. He could close his eyes and still see her there; the sight of her perched next to him on the curb, the way she had wrapped her arms around herself and couldn't stop glancing at his wounded leg. That had been the moment. The second she sat down beside him, barely more than an acquaintance, waiting in the rain while he bled from a bullet wound that came from her own gun. That was the day it all changed, the day he changed. He didn't ask her out. He didn't sleep with her. He didn't care about Dodd or the paycheck or the blue lace. He didn't care if he ever saw her again. She was confusing and erratic and his leg fucking hurt.

But still, she had waited. She made the phone calls, answered the police's questions, spoke to Al for him, and saw him off in the ambulance, all the while without a coat on in the cold rain, in possession of a stolen fugitive's car, carrying concealed, eyeing his blood seeping into the grass like she was scared out of her mind. And she should have been scared. She'd been in way over her head. But she hadn't cared. Not as long as they were in over their heads together. That was the same understanding and state of mind he shared with only a small, select group. It was a bond they had all earned from each other on their way to hell and back. No one just gave that sort of trust to someone else unconditionally, to a stranger. That is, no one but her. And as he found out soon after, she didn't give it to everyone unconditionally. He had somehow found himself counted as one among the privileged few. Even if he hadn't realized it at the time, that had been the day he'd gotten himself caught up and lost in her crazy world... and he knew now that he never wanted to find his way back out again.

_Shit_, he thought to himself. He could have sworn he was watching the thin line he'd been walking start to fray right in front of him. He tried to shake it off as he knocked, but he hadn't quite managed it yet when the door in front of him opened and snapped him to attention.

"I already told the bitch on the phone," came the angry, impatient response, "if you want somethin' silver you gotta wait 'til tomorra'." The woman wasn't wearing any pants. There was a half burned cigarette dangling from her nicotine stained fingers, her hair was over bleached to the point it looked like it would crackle when touched, and her eyes grew wide as she realized her mistake about two seconds too late. Ranger had his foot in the door and his work face on; someone was leaving in cuffs. "Lonnie!" she screamed.

Most of the next minute and a half passed in a colossal déjà vu. All but the gun shot. Lonnie and his lady friend were practically fighting each other to get out of the back door first. The woman won the race, screeching to kingdom come when she found herself face to face with Stephanie and her fully charged tazer.

Lonnie hurled himself after her, sporting shaggy sweatpants, a stained wife-beater, and two incredibly bloodshot eyes that clued the world into what kind of morning he was having even before Stephanie and Ranger arrived. When he finally did make it out onto his back porch, the sight of a locked and loaded Stephanie Plum standing over his unconscious girlfriend was too much for him. "You," he whimpered and then fainted and slid down two stairs. His face collided with a bucket of half-frozen rain water that had a lot of dirty leaves trapped in it. The limp form came to a stop at her feet, leaving a Dodd-noggin sized welt in an oxidized piece of aluminum siding that had fallen off the ramshackle house in the intervening years.

Ranger was getting ready to cuff Dodd and throw him over a shoulder for transport while Stephanie was checking on the woman. "Does she have any warrants out?" he asked.

"If she does it's her lucky day," Stephanie said and grabbed the woman by her arms, dragging her back into the house, "because I'm not about to take her in half naked or wrestle her into a pair of pants."

Stephanie went through the house for a spot check and then rejoined Ranger next to the car as he finished securing Lonnie. Handing him the house keys, she let her arms fall limp at her sides. "That was all rather anticlimactic," Stephanie said.

Ranger was already missing her smile again. "It was textbook," he insisted, "straight out of the manual. The best take downs are always anticlimactic."

"That says a lot about my career as a BEA," she bemoaned.

"You always got your man, Babe," Ranger encouraged and stepped closer. "Now you're faster and cleaner. That shouldn't bother you."

"I had help."

He pushed her hands away from where she'd started to nervously fuss with her utility belt and straightened it out again. "Everyone does. It makes you all the more a true professional, not less."

Her head dipped sheepishly as she heard him call her a professional. "I'd hoped he'd fight or at least run," she complained.

He grinned. "You wanted to shoot him didn't you?"

"Maybe a little," she muttered and he wondered if he kissed her, would she stop chewing her lip that way. "He shot you, and I don't like it when you get shot."

"I'm never thrilled about it either."

"Well, I didn't get to shoot him last time and he deserves it," she waved a frustrated hand in Dodd's direction.

Ranger couldn't resist and grabbed the sides of her vest, pulling her closer and forcing eye contact. "You still could, you know."

"You say that," she tried to hold back the hint of amusement, "but you know you'd just stop me if I tried."

"Babe." He gave her one of his own hints at a smile, "were you here to avenge me?"

"I was just going to give Karma a hand, that's all. It could have been my good deed for the day."

"Proud of ya, Babe." He tucked away a stray curl.

The corners of her eyes softened as she realized where they were having this moment. They were in public, out in the open and exposed, and the way he was leaning towards her and looking at her lips… but the moment flew away as quickly as it had come. He was leaning down not to kiss her, but to reach behind her and open the car door for her. It was chivalrous enough but not in the same way she'd expected. She turned in an effort to conceal her disappointed and panicked reaction. _What was I thinking?_ she asked herself as the almost tender moment became awkward while she practically stumbled out of his reach and into the car. She glanced up quickly to find his eyes pause on her for long enough to give away the tint of confusion that she would have once mistaken for amusement or extrasensory abilities. _I almost kissed him in the middle of the street with an FTA in the car, s_he gave herself a mental head slap and tried to shake it off. _Damnit._ [*018]

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"Care to explain last night?" Tank asked. He was sitting stiffly behind his desk, scowling in Lester's direction and giving a decidedly taciturn impression. Tank's office was large with a high price tag, a close approximation of Ranger's. The variations came in the form of small patches of color here and there and a scattering of minor personal effects, the most notable being a Cobra Command Team 'Pimp Daddy' Destro Bobble Head displayed on one of the shelves over his left shoulder. He was trying to do his 'angry boss' thing, but it wasn't working on Lester the way it had with Stephanie.

"Wasn't on my to-do list," Lester shrugged. He hated the early morning meetings that Tank favored. "Why do we always have to do this one-on-one shit first thing in the morning? You know I was up late."

A muscle flexed in Tank's jaw, "do you need me to rephrase my question?" He tipped his head in the direction of the gym, "because we could relocate this meeting if that's what you're after."

"Explain what exactly," Lester asked from where he lounged, relaxed on the sofa, "that Stephanie asked someone to ride along with her like you told her you wanted or that we called in for support at the first sign of trouble?" His casual attitude was doing nothing to soften Tank's mood.

"Don't give me that, you were with her half the night."

"Well if you're asking to see the Polaroids, I'm gonna have to say no," he laughed. "I promised Steph to keep that part of the evening just between the two of us."

Tank's voice and glare were as hard as they get. "I've seen you with her. I know why you look at her like that." Lester's smile disappeared, but he didn't reply. Tank gave his head a shake at himself and Lester. "I even caught myself doing it once when I saw her try on that desert flak we still have," he continued, his eyes adjusting to focus on something far away and seen only by him. "All that desert gear we had to train in but then never ended up wearing, she was so pissed. Remember the way it always made her look so small? She complained about it every single day, without fail. It was part of her morning ritual." Tank gave himself another tiny shake and refocused on Lester, "but Ric isn't going to understand."

"That's only because he doesn't know what's going on." Lester was done laughing, but he was still as laid back as ever, or at least trying to look it. "I can't help that now, can I?"

"You _cannot_ explain it to him."

"Look, I agreed alright, but _you_ made that decision. Don't expect me to like it or be sympathetic when it starts causing you problems."

Tank took a deep breath before biting out, "we've been over this."

"I know; I'm getting tired of it."

"Both of our names are on every one of those contracts. That mission was confidential for a reason. I will not let you drag me along with you if you breach."

"I've told you; I won't," he griped, starting to sound annoyed. "You need to lighten up."

"Les, you know perfectly well what's at stake if you let this Truth thing get too personal."

The last of Lester's good humor slipped away. "It's already personal. It always was. He took her from me."

Elbows on his desk, Tank leaned forward and spoke slowly to emphasize his point. "Stephanie. Is not. Vina."

"I know that," Lester bit out with sudden anger and defiance.

Tank was quiet for a minute, losing the staring contest that had developed between them. His tone lost its edge, but remained icy and distant. "I miss her too, but there was nothing we could have done differently."

"Fuck you." Lester was just as cold. "I know what happened and why. I had a better view than you did."

"I know you'd do almost anything to get him, but you need to retihink what you're trying to push here with Stephanie. She isn't a covert specialist. This time _is_ different."

"I'm going to make damn sure it will be," Lester vowed.

Tank lost his cool and pointed an angry finger at Lester. "Just keep yourself in check. This isn't a do-over."

"Go to hell, T." Lester's smile reappeared in its rarely seen furious iteration. "Do you think I can't see what you've been doing? _Inviting_ her to work here on the sly? Then the second you find out she's so much as had a glimpse of Truth, you bench her. Sounds to me like you're the one having trouble keeping the past in the past. Why hire her in the first place if you aren't going to let her work? Explain that one to _me._ And what exactly did Ric have to say about it, huh? How understanding was he about that?"

"He wasn't," Tank admitted in the face of Lester's accusations. _How could he keep arguing when he'd been asking himself those same questions and more? _The tension drained from the room as both men finally backed down and spent a few minutes staring at their proverbial twiddling thumbs. "What are we going to do about this?"

Lester's laugh was short and humorless. "You don't want to know what I think."

"Actually," Tank paused and almost took back his request before conceding, "I think I do."

"We should take every scrap of information we can get that even remotely applies to the case, give it to Steph and Cal and lock them in a room together for twelve to fifteen hours. By the time we let them loose they will have probably figured out a way to teleport him straight into the building."

"I stand corrected," Tank chuckled. "I didn't want to hear that."

"You should have seen her last night," he went on, more muted than usual. "Sometimes it was like looking back through time. And other times she couldn't have been less like Vina if she'd tried. Get this; she told me that she isn't worried about Truth. She doesn't think he would have killed her." Lester gave Tank the shorthand version of the conversation he had with Stephanie about Casper. "If she only knew…"

For the umpteenth time, Tank was baffled at Stephanie's thinking. "She says she isn't worried about getting killed by him because she can tell that he's an efficient and professional killer?"

"Basically."

"I suppose there is a twisted sort of logic to that." Tank gave his head one last shake. "Cal and Colt are still working on getting some kind of lead, but in the meantime, keep an eye on her."

Lester's genuine smile lit his face. "Sure thing, Boss."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

After a short, but very productive session at the range with Sunny and a dozen calls around the 'Burg trying to schedule less eventful pick-ups with my 'Chiseled' group of female FTAs, I thought a very greasy, stake-out lunch with Lula was exactly what I needed to make a good day, great. I was still looking for Bleuder and she had sharp eyes. Plus, when I'd brought in my latest body receipts she wouldn't stop complaining about how much she missed me.

Two drive-thru's later, we pulled over outside Bleuder's girlfriend's apartment and I passed extra napkins to Lula in an effort to keep an acceptable distance between the leather seating and the ketchup trying to escape from her burger. She was wearing a fur trimmed, white leather coat over a skin tight, neon rainbow, camouflage patterned jumpsuit. The only place it would do her any good was if she stood in front of a Peter Max painting and it was garish enough to make me check over my shoulder that we weren't being tailed by the Star Stealer. "I like the new hair," I complimented the naturally black, but asymmetrical swoop of Marcel waves she was sporting.

Lula gave me the once over with a twist in her lips. "You lookin' good, girl," she announced as she eyed my outfit. "I can't tell if it's the clothes or the body underneath. Is it the bad boy uniform that has you lookin' so fine or has Batman finally started givin' that ass a good workout?"

"Lula!"

"Don't even," she waved a paper napkin at my objection. "You know you smell like him right?"

Actually, I didn't know that. But I believed it. "It's the car. He came with me to get Dodd this morning," I explained and tried to be as discrete as possible as I gave myself a little sniff. All I could smell was the Micky D's.

A rather incredulous, "mm-hmm," was all Lula had to say.

Several of Vinnie's skips had been so agreeable on the phone, I decided to hand them off to Lula without feeling guilty for pawning off work. I was explaining to her that as I had tried to schedule pick-ups with the cooperative women, I'd realized how little available time I actually had to get it done. At RangeMan, 'full time' was an egregious misnomer.

"Put those away," she quickly cut me off. "All you ever do is work anymore. Look at you; you even borin' yourself. I can see it in the corner of your eyes, like you gonna yawn and they gonna start waterin'. I know you, and you're gonna try and fight touchin' 'em 'cause you put on all that mascara this morning and don't want to be spendin' the day looking like Edward Scissorhands. But that ain't gonna work and after all the sighin' and problems with fishin' tissues outta your bag you gonna end up tellin' me all about what made you slather on the Maybelline. So let's just cut to the chase right now."

"I'm fine really," I sighed and slumped in my seat with my double bacon with cheese. "I'm just tired." I discovered my French fry sleeve already empty and absentmindedly reached to grab one of Lula's.

She slapped away my hand so fast she nearly broke the sound barrier. "You lost your damn mind?"

"I'm off sweets," I attempted to plea my case.

But Lula was an unsympathetic judge. "Well, I'm not and I need these fries to balance me out. I read all 'bout how you gotta balance your diet and I got them new shoes that work your butt while you wearin' 'em." I wondered if I should point out to her that it doesn't work while she's sitting. "I got a six week plan. I'll be fly as hell by New Year's. That way I don't need no stupid resolutions. I'll already be smokin' hot."

She was planning things for six weeks in the future. I was confused about where to drive to when I restarted the car. "If you had any idea the kind of food I have to eat at RangeMan… unsweetened tapioca with dates and something that was mostly made of chick peas."

"Pssh," Lula half condoled and half mocked, "shit girl, you really do anything to be with that man, wouldn't you?"

"Why does everyone think – "

"Yeah, yeah, save it for someone who needs a laugh. What I need is some real dish." She jostled her lunch bag in my direction. "You want these fries, then give up the goods."

"You're holding lunch hostage for gossip?"

"No, not gossip!" From her tone, I was worried I'd really offended her. "I'm your girl ain't I? I'm s'posed to know the real story when these crazies call and tell us you set some old lady's hair on fire. How am I gonna know if it's true or not with your absent ass disappearing in the Outer Heaven fortress all the time?"

_Who the hell were Lula's sources?_ "Of course it isn't true."

"It could be," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Ok, I give up," I said eyeing the fries. "So what do you want, dish to tell Connie or just fact checking?"

"I want everything, especially any naked news. I can keep a secret."

It was my turn to be bluntly honest. "No you can't, not the kind you want to hear most."

"Fine," she hrumphed. "tell me something to hold over Connie. I'm sick of her boyfriend crap."

A sanity-threatening vortex of everything that had happened recently kaleidoscoped through my head. _What would Lula say if she knew everything?_ I finally settled on the obvious topic – that is, if my sister could be trusted about the telephone calls to my mother's house – and decided to give her some details on what most people were probably discussing. "I'm done with Joe," was the simple statement I made. And even then, I sounded disingenuous to myself.

"Mmm-hmm," she disbelieved me for the second time in twenty minutes.

I lost my highly feigned cool. "What?"

"I heard that a hundred times. So has Connie. I wanna hear somethin' good. I wanna hit her with somethin' she ain't got no answer for the next time she tries to tell me about VanChinless' ding-dong."

"Well, this time Joe is done with me too."

"Now, that I believe," she said with a mouthful of the French fries I was attempting to ransom away from her.

"Some friend you are," I accussed. "Aren't you supposed to comfort me?"

"You look fine with it," she said with another glance at my uniform. "Girl, you too confused to be makin' pledges 'bout men anyway. Now Joe, he got plenty info to start makin' up his mind."

A bubble of fear popped into my chest. _No one knows about what I told Joe. They couldn't_. "What are you talking about?"

"Ain't you been listenin'? There is butt loads o' rumors, more than 'nuff to get a man thinkin'."

_Yeah, but not true ones, right?_ "How bad are we talking here?"

"Well, if I was SuperCop, I'd be steamin' red 'bout the one where _you_ are havin' _Batman's_ baby. But that's not the worst of them."

"What could be worse than that?" I hate pregnancy rumors. They're the worst. In the 'Burg, being accused of getting knocked up by a man other than your fiance/husband is like being called a slut _and_ stupid at the same time. Why don't all of those big noses go bother some other woman who _isn't_ pregnant? There are literally millions of us out there.

Lula laughed as she explained what type of rumor could be even worse than that of an illegitimate pregnancy. "I heard some lady at the bakery say you were thinkin' 'bout retirin' from bounty huntin' since you in your forties now."

"Forty!" I nearly took her arm off yanking the bag away from her. "I am eating those damn fries!"

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Detective Maglio took a gulp of the station's tepid, coffee-like sludge and slapped shut the heavy, weathered volume he'd been reading. Actually, he was _re-_rereading sections of the penal code, positive that there must be something worded loosely enough to buy him and his partner more time to build some kind of case against Casper Truth.

The guy was no good. His behavior shouted, 'I'm the kind of criminal you need to lock up and watch at all times.' He had no discernable recorded past whatsoever. He never asked for a lawyer. He refused to make a statement in his defense. He didn't even ask what the charges were. He kept quiet and calm, as they shuffled him around the system, lost or delayed his paperwork, and repeatedly pulled him into one interview after another. There was something seriously off about him and they were going to use that too. They had weak grounds for requesting a psychiatric evaluation and little confidence that the results would give them anything Casper didn't want them to have, but it would give them what they needed, time.

"Hey, Mick," Robin Russell appeared and tossed a file folder in front of him on top of the closed book, "she's officially a missing person, suspicious circs."

"Heidi?"

Robin nodded, "Vic Stokes will be here to finish filing the report first thing tomorrow. I've already called for the warrant and Berman from CSU. They start on the house as soon as he crosses the 'T' in Stokes."

Maglio smiled, pulled his suit coat off the back of his chair, and gave it a shake as he stood and slipped it on. "Let's go find out if Truth has anything to say after he hears about this."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

We'd finished our lunches with no sign of Bleuder and Lula was noisily draining the last drops of her milkshake. "So, you really a crime fighter now?"

"Not officially." I took her trash from her and added it to mine, double checking that all we left behind in the SRX was the scent of salt and grease.

"What more you need, a badge?"

I laughed. "I wish we had badges," I said, eagerly imagining how many skips I might be able to fool with a realistic looking badge.

She raised a curious eyebrow. "You_ are_ a Rangeman then?"

_Geez_. "Another rumor you're trying to confirm?" I groaned. This relaxing, working lunch was becoming a full-on interrogation.

"I ain't blind! Either you a Rangeman or I gotta explain to you what 'wardrobe malfunction' means," she said, waving a rainbow tipped hand at me in a 'wax on, wax off' motion, "because all this, it ain't ladylike."

"The papers aren't signed yet," I explained, "but so far they're all treating me as if it was already official."

"How much more official you need that man to get?"

_How did I know this was headed toward another Ranger-related inquisition?_ "This has nothing to do with Ranger."

"'Course it does," she flapped, "it's gotta do with his company and his men and his building and his bed."

"No, it's just legal stuff with Tank and employment contracts," I explained distractedly, spotting and nervously watching a red sedan roll down the street in our direction. The driver was a young woman with short black hair. Tension left my spine as she passed without giving us a second glance. "It isn't decided yet."

"Then make a damn decision," Lula demanded. "See, this why I hate talkin' to you sometimes," she proclaimed, recalling my full attention with her tone. "You never answer a question. You just dance all 'round it."

"What?" I bawked.

Her neck started to bob around in a disgruntled swivel. "Every time I ask somethin' important you give me excuses and then your skinny ass runs off."

"It does not," I immediately denied. That was Ranger's game, not mine.

"It do to," she reiterated. "You always 'I don't know,' or 'it's not important,' or 'it's a long story,' or 'it's complicated,' or 'you don't want to know.' 'Course I wanna know, I asked didn't I? But you always all top secret and shit."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I know how aggravating it is when someone refuses to answer questions. I've been dealing with that for a long time. "No. I would not do that to someone." _Although you do lie on occasion when you answer questions_, the little devil on my shoulder pointed out like a fat, faitour know-it-all.

"Yes, you do," she scowled.

"No, I don't." _Okay, that argument was a bit on the juvenile side_.

Lula was losing what passes for patience with her. "Yes, you fuckin' do. You never tell me nothing; you just complain."

"I'm not complaining; I'm venting. There's a difference." That's what lunches with your girlfriends are for, right? "And I have good reason. Have you taken a look at my life lately?"

"That's a big ol' crock of bullshit." Lula was getting worked up. "You _always_ complaining 'bout somethin', but never doin' nothing 'bout it. You just waitin' 'round for life to happen to you. Come on, girl, sometimes you gotta make it happen yo'self.

"Did you read a self help book or something?"

"I am a proud ex-ho, thank you very much. I know what I'm talkin' about. I got help startin', but I had to do that shit myself. Ain't no fairy godmother flyin' 'round saving hos, not unless I count you. You a hero."

I scoffed. "I didn't do anything."

"You saved me," she simply stated.

"It was nothing special, really. Anyone would have done the same thing in my place."

She glared at me. "You just talkin' stupid now."

_Why was she so upset?_ Because I don't like participating in the obnoxious gossip circulating about me? Because when I do talk to her about what's going on in my life, she doesn't like what she hears? I can't help that. "It was my fault that you got sucked into my mess in the first place. I should be apologizing."

She threw up her hands. "Stephanie, I'm 'bout to foul up my language at you! You always helpin' somebody with they problems. Gettin' your pretty little ass shot at and blown up for people you don't even know and who ain't payin' you back for it. You know what you are? You a do-gooder."

"Lula – "

"You a do-gooder and you're fuckin' good at it too. You are Ranger with tits."

"Puh-lease," I rolled my eyes so far I caught a glimpse of my fillings.

Suddenly her anger was gone and she was smiling again. "That's why he's perfect for you. You two are like Remington Steele."

_And we're back to this again_. "Why is my love life so interesting to everyone?"

"Because when ya'll get near each other it's steamier than the back of Barney Hard-On's van in June."

I had no idea who Barney was, and had no desire to find out about his sweaty, hard-on's either. "Well, I wish everyone would give it a rest."

"It's like a sexy soap opera," she announced with enthusiasm. "Everybody knows there's dirty workin' goin' on and ain't nobody turnin' channels 'til they get a money shot."

_Ugh! How bad would it be if I hit her?_ I started calculating my odds in a hand to hand match with Lula. "For the last time, I'm _not_ having sex with Ranger."

She had the nerve to laugh at me. "You 'spect me to believe that?"

"If I was doing Ranger, I'd be a hell of a lot more cheerful, wouldn't I?"

"Okay, true 'nuff," she conceded. "But then why ain't'cha? You ain't going blind or changin' teams are you?"

The question pissed me off, because I didn't know the answer. I couldn't think of any really good reasons to give her that I wasn't sleeping with Ranger. Even plantlife could see that we both wanted it. "No."

"Well, don't you want him?" she asked me with something almost like pity.

_Now who's talkin' stupid?_ "Of course I do, who wouldn't?"

"Then make it happen!" she shouted with an odd grasping swoop of her fist that she must have seen on a basic cable station sometime between three and four in the morning. "That man is gaggin' for you. Just get it on already. After that you two be solid."

I sighed and thunked my chin on my fist, staring out the driver's window. I knew how wrong she was and it had me wondering what I was trying to do with Ranger, anyway. What did I expect to come out of these sleepovers and stolen moments? What did he expect? Sometimes it seemed like he needed something real and important and that he was looking to me for it. Other times, he was the same old Ranger, mysterious and fleeting and without any typically mortal needs. It was all making me even more confused than usual, not less. Despite the way I craved him and wanted to give in to it, one of the things I was certain of, was that sex wasn't going to fix whatever this situation was. "Sex is not the answer, Lula."

"Trust me, it is."

My own temper was beginning to rise. "Trust _me_, on this," I ground out. "_It. Isn't_."

Lula gazed at me intently with pursed lips and squinted eyes. After a minute she settled her metal debate. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no way, Miss Thang," she wagged an angry finger at me. "You ain't gonna side-step shit this time. I can see you thinkin' 'bout whatever it is you ain't tellin' me. Spit it out."

_Crap_. I let this conversation go on for way too long and she backed me into a corner. Even worse, she was right; I was ready to pull a 'Ranger' on her. I wanted to dodge the hell out of this and burn rubber with her lit up by my taillights. _I'm such an asshole_. She tells me I'm a hero and that she believes I can be and get what I want if I just try, and all the while I'm wondering how long she'd hold it against me if I pushed her out of a moving vehicle. I looked back at her, waiting patiently, if frustrated, for me to answer her. After all of this time, maybe she deserved my trust with a few honest answers, deserved to hear some of the story. The next thing I knew I was blurting it out.

"Back when Abruzzi was bothering me, Ranger was really worried and hanging around all the time. He'd just stop by to check on me. I wasn't with Joe then." As I spoke Lula's jaw began to slowly loose altitude. "We'd been kind of avoiding it, you know. Then one night it just happened." When I finished, she let out a shriek that probably registered on the Richter scale. Most of what she said wasn't within the range of human hearing, but I heard a lot of cursing and 'I knew it's,' and 'hate you's.' But when the word 'details' flew at me several times I had to stop her. "No! No details, Lula! It was good; that's all I'm going to say. You know that already anyway. It only happened once and when he stays over now it's always just a kiss and cuddle. The important part you need to hear is that after our one night he told me…" I had to take a breath to hold back the emotions trying to creep over me, "he told me that he didn't want a relationship and that I should get back together with Joe."

All of Lula's enthusiasm drained away as quick as it had appeared. "He did what now?"

"Don't make me say it again."

If anything, Lula was gapping even wider after hearing that. "You just heard him wrong," she gave her head a shake that threatened to whip her earrings right off her head. "I know he ain't _never_ said that."

"That wasn't the only time he said it. He made his point clear again, a few times."

She examined me even harder than before, her confusion clearly displayed. "You tellin' me that he, _Ranger Manoso_, has been sayin' that you, _Stephanie Plum_, should be nightly bobbing for spicy pickle with Joseph 'Officer Hottie' Morelli? Is that what you tryin' to tell me?"

"No," I couldn't hold back a tiny laugh. It felt kind of good to be talking about it. "The sex is probably the only part I'd believe he has an issue with. Sex with Joe is a subject that's never broached other than vague, flirty innuendo every once in a blue moon. And I wouldn't ever _want_ to broach it with him either. It would be a very bad idea."

"See, you wrong," she smiled and gave me a sassy slap on my leg. "He got a problem with it 'cause he loves you."

I blew out a monster sigh. She was going to make a huge deal out of this. "I know he does. He tells me he loves me."

"_Say what?"_ If she didn't calm down and get some volume control, she was going to get laryngitis.

"He has _also_ always said that his life isn't right for relationships," I reminded her again.

"So?"

"He refers to me as an 'opportunity' and insists that being together wouldn't be good for either of us."

"You just got it mixed up," she dismissed. "You can't listen to what men say."

"He gave me this speech about who he really is and how his love doesn't come with a ring."

"A ring?" She was confused again. "You mean you want him to ask you to get married?"

"No!" The answer flew from me with enough force to shock us both. _Ohmigod, was that true? I sounded horrified at the idea._

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, exasperated.

"The problem is that he's dead set against having a relationship with me," I emphasized, the ease of our subject matter evaporating. "There's nothing I can do about that and I don't think I can do casual sex, especially not with him."

"I can't believe I'm sayin' this," Lula muttered to herself and gave her head an annoyed shake, "but forget about the sex for a sec'." Her expression looked like those words had even tasted bad. Recovering, she sat up straight, cleared her throat with a didactic air, and held up a hand. She started ticking off colorful fingernails as she spoke. "You have keys to his apartment. He sleeps over at your place. He eats with you and calls to check in with you. He gives you things and lets you drive his cars. You wear his clothes. He kisses you. He cuddles. He told you he loves you. He's met your parents and introduced you to his friends." She shot her hand out and hit me on back of my head. "Hello! Knockin' boots or not, _HE IS ALREADY YOUR MAN!"_

"Look Lula, you think you know what you're talking about, but you just don't. This really is complicated. Most of what you said is because he's my friend; the same things apply to Eddie. And the rest of it," I paused, trying to think of the best way to describe what I was feeling. "I think it has more to do with whatever's going on _with him_ than what's going on _between us_." I grabbed her arm in an involuntary, desperate flood of worry. "If you hear any rumors, _anything at all_, about Ranger being off his game or out of touch or acting strange, please, please, tell me right away?"

"Yeah, yeah," she immediately agreed with concern in her eyes, "no problem."

"You can't repeat any of this and if you hear _anyone_ saying _anything_ about Ranger or RangeMan – "

"Ah'course, girl, you know I got you."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Bobby Brown's footsteps echoed dully as he headed for the far side of the garage where three SUVs that weren't in service lined the East wall. One had a low tire that needed air, one still had a large gash scraped in the side, and the one that'd been used the night before needed its emergency supplies rechecked and restocked. He pulled out his phone and checked the time. He was still officially the senior man operating on shift until Tank took over in twenty minutes. Stephanie's number was on speed dial, number seven, and he wasn't thrilled by the fact she didn't pick up until the fifth ring.

"Plum." Stephanie answered, not recognizing the RangeMan extension on her caller I.D.

"It was your name I read on the roster when I looked to find out who's on point in the garage."

"Yeah, I know," she answered confused. "Tank assigned it. This is Bobby Brown, right?"

"If you know this is your job, why am I standing here looking at a brick-sized blemish in the side of an otherwise fine vehicle?"

"Umm," she hesitated, getting that same heavy feeling she got when Tank frowned at her, "Tobias had too much to drink?"

"You do know what 'on call duty' means, don't you Plum? You're off shift, not off duty. Garage positions aren't handed out as punishment because they're easy or fun. The weather report calls for snow and ice next week; every car has to be pre-checked for winter readiness. And vehicle two-zero-nine is listed for essential inventory restock. Right now it's sitting in the garage with a half empty first-aid kit. If you don't have Al's number for the body damage on the Explorer, call the main line and get it from the directory." _Click_.

Stephanie sighed and snapped her phone shut. "Sorry Lula, but I've gotta go."

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*018 : Damien Rice – Delicate]<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterick are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – ****Chapter 20**

I was sitting alone in the break room, scanning the inventory of the RangeMan Trenton fleet, checking off the vehicles I'd already winterized, and frowning uncontrollably around a bite of a cold chicken salad sandwich at the long list of boxes still left unchecked. I kept replaying Lula's words in my head. That lighthearted lunch had turned into an awful heavy dose of truth. I dismissed the hero stuff out of hand. I had a job that often threw me in the way of people who needed help. How could I not help them? That was nothing out of the ordinary. And her insights into my break-up with Joe were too misinformed to cause me much distress.

The rest of what she had to say was harder to process. I do run from questions. It was because I rarely had any answers. Ranger had secrets. I had confusion. But in the end, I guess the people around you end up just as dissatisfied with the question marks and unknowns, no matter what the reason is behind them. And I do complain a lot, but I always feel like I have good reason. Shit happens. Since there's rarely anything I can do beforehand to stop it, the one consolation is that I get to bitch about it afterward. And what was her advice on the matter? 'Don't let things happen, make things happen.' Can you say banal? 'Make it happen.' It sounded like a sports drink slogan or a daytime television catch phrase. But there was a kind of folksy wisdom to it, I guess. Lula was living proof.

So much of my life has been predicated on what I should do or had to do, rather than what I wanted to do. It made me miserable. Lately I _had_ been trying to go after what I want. I glanced down at my uniform, felt the hefty weight of my CAT boots, adjusted the bulge of my gun, traced the tip of my finger along the embroidered logo on my uniform, and knew that there was definitely an upside to being proactive. Why wouldn't the same hold true in my personal life? What if I had kissed Ranger in the street the way I'd wanted, instead of waiting for him to do it and then admonishing myself for my expectations when they were proven too lofty? The result might have been emotionally fraught and messy, but my world wouldn't have come to an end. And since when is my life not messy anyway? I might as well get a kiss in the deal.

Looking at the Anjou and bottle of water that were to make up the rest of my evening meal, I considered trying to squeeze in dinner at my parents' before my first surveillance shift started. That's just how badly I wanted to avoid hanging out in the office and completing the auto repair expense requests for the body work Al quoted me an hour earlier. I hated looking at the numbers that went along with the damage I caused. That brick indentation was awfully expensive, and compared to what I normally did to cars, it was minor.

"Is that all you're having?" Ram startled me out of my mental debate from where he stood in the doorway.

"I hate that ninja crap you all do," I said with a hand to my chest. "I would have thought you'd learned your lesson the last time you did that to me."

"You _did_ hear me coming last time," Ram gave a small shrug. "Consider my regular, death-defying habit as a part of your training."

"Is it the boots that are quiet? Where can I get boots like those in woman's sizes?"

"Sorry," Ram smiled, "I don't know much about ladies' shoes." He came over and swept up my papers, using them to wave me to follow. "Come on. Pack-up the sandwich for the four-hour surveillance boredom cravings and come have a real meal."

"Actually, I don't have much time – " I tried to refuse, not sure where he wanted me to go.

"It's just in the lounge," he answered my unasked question. _Damn RangeMan ESP_.

"Here in the building, you mean?"

"On the sixth floor, next to the Guzman's apartment; it's like a common room for the guys that live here in the studios, but everyone uses it." He headed off with all my pages in his hands, forcing me to go with him. "Ella makes food a few times a week. Tonight is cerdo con plátano verde, much better than chicken salad."

I shadowed him in the stairwell, curiously eyeing his silent stride. _I bet I could do that if I practiced in the right shoes_. I noticed a slight list in his walk that I don't think I would have picked up on had I not been spending so much time around RangeMan's Princes of Posture. He must have been still hurting from his bruises. "I heard about last night," I began. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered with a pat to his ribs as we reached the door.

"That's not really…" I stopped halfway though my thought. I was trying to say that I was sorry for what happened. I had held a gun on him and pulled the trigger not long before the real shooting occurred. Overall the prequel had been rather traumatic, despite the fact the chamber had been empty. I felt terrible that it happened to him _again_, so soon and so tragically. This time the gun had been loaded and aimed with intent. This time Ram had to shoot back, and there was blood. My hands shook thinking about it. Ram centered his uniquely piercing stare on me. He had the strangest way about him, an energy that he switched on sometimes. If there was ever a Rangeman that I would genuinely believe had ESP, not in any hyperbolic or sarcastic sense, it would be Ram. It felt like he already knew what I was trying to say. His reassuring warmth never faltering, it also felt like he was telling me that I didn't need to say it. I smiled and changed tact. "That's not really so bad then, Tough Guy. Why were you milking it on the stairs?"

"To bask in some delicate, feminine concern," he answered with a gentle, wry smile. "And it worked too." He pushed on the door labeled 'Lounge' and held it open for me.

Like the administrative office had been, the lounge was another portion of the building I'd yet to see for some mysterious reason. I remembered it being vaguely mentioned by Ranger with a tick of his head to indicate the direction one would travel if they were going from the control room to the lounge, but other than that I hadn't given it much thought. That might have been different had I known that this was where the real food, comfortable chairs, and high-definition, jumbo screen were kept.

The lounge was much larger than the break room, big enough to be sectioned off into two spacious halves. As you entered there was a kitchenette directly to your right. Beyond that, smooth, glossy, slate mosaic flooring stretched out into a dining area where a wide, maple table sat in a ring of ten chairs. The left half of the room was all plushy carpet and comfort. Several over-stuffed, leather chair-and-a-half's and loveseats were arranged around sleek, stone and hammered metal tables. On the wall to the left there stood a matching entertainment system which held every conceivable gadget and accessory you'd ever need to be entertained. Two doors were at the back of the room, one open to a washroom, the other with a simple intercom and hand-crafted placard that read 'The Guzman's.'

"Go back to that for a minute," Zero was ordering Junior as we came into the room.

Junior was slouched in one of the leather chairs with his back to the door. His feet were propped up on the arm of another as he scanned through channels on the television. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a grey, 'Army' sweatshirt. As Ram passed his chair, he kicked the feet down off the soft leather and Junior popped up in his seat. "Sorry, Dad," he griped lightly, but he changed his attitude abruptly when he noticed me, sitting up even straighter looking slightly chagrined. He flipped back to the program Zero was requesting, an old rerun of 'Gangland,' and stood and stretched.

Ram moved to the kitchenette, pulling out plates and cutlery for us as he opened all the cabinets and drawers, showing me where everything was kept. "Ella keeps things well stocked, but if anything ever runs out, press the call button at the door that adjoins the Guzman's apartment."

With loaded plates, we sat down, quickly followed by Junior. Zero was at the far end of the dining table, halfway through his own large plate of the stew that smelled too fresh and piquant not to be eaten in the sun on a beautiful beach somewhere. I didn't know him more than on sight alone. Zero was weathered enough that his age was hard to discern. I would peg him somewhere between forty and forty five. His hair was slightly longer than mine, dirty blonde, and pulled back in a simple braid at the base of his neck. He was in uniform. Faded tattoos of emblems I didn't recognize peeked out from the tight sleeves hugging his biceps. One ear held a small stud with the letter 'K' on it and a thin scar ran up and to the left from the center of his top lip to just past his left nostril. It pulled when he smiled and gave him a strange pattern of laugh lines.

Zero nodded at us all and kept eating. As good as the food was, I wondered why more of the guys weren't there. "How often does Ella cook for the lounge?"

Ram answered, "Usually twice a week."

"It's the only time you'll ever find Zero here,' Junior told me with an impudent crook in his lips.

My question must have shown on my face, as Zero explained, "My wife has no idea how bad her cooking is and I'm not about to tell her. I have to sneak these meals when I can."

I looked around the room and tried to imagine Ranger sitting at the table with the other men, enjoying Ella's meals. I was having trouble seeing it, but I was also well aware of how little I knew of Ranger. Maybe he came in here occasionally, to watch a game or connect with his men. I had no idea really. "Does Ranger ever eat in here?"

Junior let out a bark of laughter. "Bossman never stops long enough to eat." I laughed with the rest of them, knowing the kinds of hours Ranger worked.

Zero smiled with a deep, chuckle. "Rumor is he eats in his sleep."

"That's bullhockey," Junior declared. "Boss doesn't sleep. He's a machine. He just powers down for a few minutes at a time." That was a bit much. As someone who'd once questioned Ranger's status as a human, I could understand their thinking, but at least I always assumed he was an organic life form.

"A robot from space," Zero expounded.

"Made of Endurium," Junior added. Okay, now my hackles were up. I thought that I was supposed to keep the power plays private because his men weren't allowed. This was sounding a lot like jeering. Compared to my metal image of the Rangemen, this was outright disrespect. Do they rag on Tank too?

"So the answer is no," Zero concluded with a grin, "Bossman doesn't socialize."

"You know, he _does_ socialize," I spoke up in his defense, thinking about how lonely Ranger's apartment must be compared to the camaraderie of the lounge. "He eats too. He eats an upsetting amount of leaves and fruit and alternative proteins, usually standing at the counter in the kitchen. Although, strangely enough, he does sit at the table for breakfast, even if it's just tea and his laptop." As my mind caught up with my mouth, I heard a single cricket chirping in the distance. This was an entirely new kind of awkward silence for me. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I felt like I'd just spilled state secrets over the open airwaves. _I did not just tell them personal details about Ranger, including the fact that I'm well acquainted with his breakfast habits_. Ram managed to keep a straight face, but Junior looked like he'd just heard me utter an unforgivable curse. Zero turned his face away completely, studying his plate like he wanted to avoid witnessing my impending doom. I wasn't looking forward to it either.

Ram softly coughed his throat clear. "They're just goofing," he said, putting the first crack in the silence.

Junior broke the rest of it, "he meant that the bosses rarely come in here. It's really more of a place for us to take a breather when we aren't working. Tank never comes in here either."

"Yeah," Zero indicated the stack of papers Ram had set between us at the table, "this is a work-free zone."

"Those are Stephanie's," Ram quickly deflected onto me, shoving the pile closer to me.

"Hey," I said, suddenly defensive, "you took them from me and brought them in here."

Zero sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "Well, we're going to need a judgment on this. There are strict penalties for breaking lounge rules."

"The rules are clear," Junior struck a mirrored pose beside Zero. "They _are_ Stephanie's papers."

"Ram was carrying them," I continued to protest.

Ram took on an offended air. "I'm a gentleman. I held the door for you too; how many years do I get for that?"

"Some gentleman! You're turning tail faster than a Frenchman and abandoning me to this," I accused, waving to indicate my other persecutors. I couldn't believe it. Were they really about to hold a supper-time kangaroo court?

"Whoa," Junior interjected, "there's no need to get nasty. Just take responsibility."

"But," I sputtered, "I didn't do it! And even if I did, I don't know the rules. I've never been in here."

"Ignorance of the law is no defense," Ram gave a disappointed tsking.

The angrier I got, the funnier they all seemed to find it. "And if I throttled you all where you sit, would there be a justification defense available to me?"

Zero used his spoon as a gavel, "Here, here, order. Throttling is decided on a case by case basis, just like everything else. In this case, I rule in Ram's favor."

"Oh, come on! That is not fair. I'm being framed. And who made you the judge anyway?"

"For your first offense, you'll be fined," he went on, ignoring my protests, "three cases of beer."

The squall instantly receded and the wind left my sails. "Beer?"

"The good stuff," Junior chimed in.

I looked over at Ram and our eyes held. That cheeky bastard. "You know I would have just bought beer if you asked."

"That wouldn't have been any fun."

"We'll see how funny you think it is the next time you're looking for some delicate, feminine concern."

Ram gave his machine-gun laugh, patted my shoulder with a surprising, casual strength that knocked me forward in my seat, and returned to his meal. I guess my threat wasn't threatening enough.

The rest of the meal was brief, but convivial. Zero didn't linger, explaining that the RangeMan schedule didn't leave him much free time to spend with his kids, and Junior spent the entire meal with one eye on the television. It felt good. There were no sidelong glances at me or nervous mutism from the others. I was comfortable.

The sensation was fleeting, however, and didn't ascend with me to the seventh floor. Butterflies and fuzzy caterpillars were polka dancing in my stomach as I made my way up to Ranger's apartment to primp and prepare for work.

Lula's parting words to me when I had dropped her off were still ringing in my ears. She'd leaned down into the passenger window and declared, "I'm telling you that man is already yours and everybody knows it." I opened my mouth to argue, but she shut that down with a 'stop' gesture and a clipped, "Nup!" She waited to make sure I was listening and went on, "Just pretend I'm right and maybe you both start believin' it too. And maybe people quit callin' you 'Manoso's woman' and they start callin' him 'Plum's man' instead." Then she sashayed away from the car, swinging her hips and calling over her shoulder, "You best call me, girl!"

_Pretend that he's mine?_ How would Ranger react to that? I was thinking it was worth trying just to find out. And the thought of people calling Ranger 'Plum's man' was the greatest idea I'd ever heard. It made me smile so wide my cheeks hurt.

I took a beat to brace myself before letting myself into his apartment. "Hello, anybody home?" I called out. I peeked around the corner and looked in the doorway to the kitchen. Ranger was leaning against the counter, ankles crossed, looking yummy as hell with his hair down… and eating an exotic looking chopped fruit and nut salad. Beside him on the counter was a bottle of Dogfish Midas. I couldn't help laughing. I laughed and laughed some more.

"Babe."

"I'm sorry, but it's just _too_ perfect," I sighed, catching my breath. Turning to leave without explaining, I headed for the bathroom and closets. It took several minutes to finish my pre-shift, freshen-up ritual. Then checking my watch, I saw that I had just enough time to take a time-out. I belly flopped on the bed with my face buried into the pillows. For fifteen glorious minutes, I was going to simply lie there and do _nothing_.

Ten minutes later I felt his eyes on me. "Hi," I greeted without looking. It was muffled by the bedding.

"Got something on your mind?" Ranger was familiar with the thinking position.

I rolled to my side and propped my head on my hand. "You have no idea."

He was standing across the room with his arms folded. I wondered how long he'd been there before I sensed him. Our eyes met before his raked down the bed and back again, returning to mine several shades darker than they'd been a moment earlier. I could see the tension in his posture, ready to break and wash over us. "I have a few."

The heated twist in my gut made my lungs balloon and my toes curl. I wanted him so badly. "Want to share any of them with me?" I tried to keep the buckets of desire out of my voice, but was wholly unsuccessful. I bit my lip. This was a dangerous game to play with him when he was like this.

The muscles in his crossed arms flexed slightly. "You have no idea."

The moment stretched, and we were both desperate but unwilling to take another step in the direction we were headed. I finally broke eye contact and turned over onto my back, spread-eagled and fairly impressed that somehow even the ceiling of his apartment seemed cleaner and classier than mine. "I needed a moment before I ventured out again," I explained my prone position to him.

Knowing that he never spent time in the lounge, and guessing from how impersonal his apartment always seemed that he didn't spend much time relaxing there either, I was curious about what he did when his very human need to veg-out took hold. "What do you do when you need to get a moment away?" He held my gaze but was unresponsive. When was I going to learn? It was one thing to keep asking questions hoping, but doubting, that I would get answers, but it was another to keep allowing myself to be so let down every time I didn't get them. I had an entire conversation with Lula about it that very day. "Right, never mind" I sighed. I sat up on the edge of the bed and studied the floor between my feet.

"I go see you," he murmured lightly.

My head lifted. He was straight-faced, completely serious. "What about when you need a break from me?"

Ranger unfolded his arms and advanced like an executioner approaching the condemned. "It's never come up. Are you implying a need to get away from me?" He didn't stop until he had nudged my knees apart and was standing as close as he could get without removing the layers of clothing between us.

"No," I quickly back-stepped in a whisper. I had to lean back, my arms behind me for support, craning my neck to speak to any part of him above his navel.

"Because my bed would be an odd place to choose for that," he said huskily. His eyes drifted lower to my lips. He reached out, his fingers grazing the side of my neck and his thumb tracing down the line of my throat.

I felt that old flare of panic in my chest that if I got too close I might get burned. "No," I insisted, "it's that usually _I'm_ trying to get away from me. I was just looking for ideas."

His eyes softened and I swear he looked like he wanted to sigh. "Babe."

_My man. Pretend it's true. _It's not that different from denial; I'm great at denial._ My man. No reason to be scared. He's already mine_. "Either kiss me or step back so I can stand up and kiss you." _Gulp_.

After several motionless beats, without breaking his gaze, his hand fell away and he took three steps backward. I didn't need any motionlessness; I was moving right away. _If he's mine, then I get to have him_. I pulled him into the kiss by the scruff of his neck and wasn't gentle about it. By the hitch in his breath and the shift in his weight to square his stance, I'd guess that it caught him by surprise. His mini-gasp gave me just enough access and I took advantage and invaded. Our tongues battled. He growled low in his throat and his possessive hands found my hips. I moaned, but was careful not to let the kiss escalate beyond my control and was the first to break contact. From the millisecond glimpse it gave me of Ranger's dazed expression before he could recover, I resolved to make it as regular a habit as possible.

"I have to go to work," I leaned in with a hand on his chest and a tiny smile. "You're staying here tonight and still want me to come up?"

Rich, dark eyes flashed. "Yes."

"Okay," with one more peck of a kiss and a pat on his cheek, "I'll see you later."

He followed me as far as the bedroom doorway, where he stood against the doorjamb, watching me gather my things. I gave him a finger wave as I slipped out the door. I only paused for a second in the hall to regain my balance before I made for the garage, where I'd meet the Rangemen I'd be working with that night.

I was waiting by one of the SUVs when Woody and Manny came through the doors. I went unnoticed as they were already caught up in an animated discussion. "Why would you do that before surveillance?" I heard Manny ask as they came within earshot. "You must hate me."

"Well, yeah, but that's got nothing to do with it," Woody jested back. "Do you have any idea what goes into making Polish foods from scratch and then express shipping them from Chicago to Trenton?"

"You're Irish."

"So what, I'm can't like golabki and bigos?"

"You're not allowed to smell like you do. Jersey's got Polish food daily and you managed not to violate EPA regs yesterday."

"I only get my sister's home cooking a few times a year," Woody explained with two elevated fingers, first gesturing to his left, "when the package comes," and then to his right, "I'm eating it."

"Then have it," Manny mimed Woody's gestures from side to side, "when you get home, _after your shift_. For fuck's sake you smell like you bathed in sauerkraut."

"Man, I don't bitch when you eat the spicy stuff your abuela makes for Sunday dinner and then we have to make stops so you can take a shit every hour and a half."

Manny stepped away from Woody and opened the driver's door. "Don't breathe near me."

I puffed a small breath in my hand, now paranoid about what I smelled like after Micky D's, chicken salad, green plantain stew, and ten minutes in Ranger's bed. It was probably something like leftovers that had been forgotten in one of Ranger's cars on a sunny afternoon. At least it wasn't Eau de Dumpster, which I was occasionally known to wear in my hopefully previous life. And by previous I mean a week ago.

"I don't mind. I like sauerkraut," I told Woody, offering him a stick of gum, "the more oniony the better. My grandma still makes her own homemade sometimes." Their heads snapped in my direction with expressions like their third grade teacher had overheard them cursing in the schoolyard. I was still riding the rush from my most recent Ranger kiss and was totally over these unpleasant silences. They'd been perfectly relaxed two seconds earlier. _Was I really that unnerving?_ "Shotgun," I announced, hopefully with at least half the authority a third grade teacher might imbue. That broke the spell and earned me several dozen watts of handsome smiles.

The drive took us through residential areas that grew progressively more affluent until we entered a gated community of luxury townhomes. Manny turned into the drive of a pitch dark house. The garage door opened immediately and we were out of sight in seconds. Inside, the house was sparsely furnished, unlived-in, staged as a model for potential buyers. There were some cameras set up to film out from several of the front and side windows. In the dining room, hard drives hummed and monitors glowed. Large packs were lined up on the floor along the wall, filled with sound recording equipment, batteries, extension cords, etc. Everything other than the adjustable tripods looked too advanced for me.

"Shouldn't there be a team here for us to relieve?" I hadn't expected the house to be empty.

Woody tossed the duffle he'd brought with him into a corner of the dining room and opened two laptops that were on the table. "Cameras run during the day and are monitored from Haywood; for this job we only post men at night."

"Why?"

"This is a no-action assignment," Manny explained, unpacking several microphones and tracking bugs from a box that'd been stowed beneath the table. "Our client has a family member he wants to keep an eye on. We watch, document, and report; passive involvement. There's no contact with the subject. The only time we need to be hands-on is to plant or remove equipment, and we can't do that during the day in this neighborhood."

"Is that legal?" I asked.

"The target property," Manny waved me over to the cameras at the windows and pointed to a house across the street and two doors down, "is under the name of our client, so yes. We have permission from the deed-holder. No one else has the expectation of privacy over there. It isn't anyone's permanent residence. It's a weekend house; it gets used by a lot of people."

"A love nest?"

"Something like that. Word is the subject should be there and driving one of the new cars tonight," Woody elaborated. "If he is, we're planting monitors on it. The list of cars we're allowed to wire is in the file."

I returned to the dining room and followed their lead, powering up equipment and trying not to get in the way. "List? How many cars are there?"

"A few," he told me, passing a folder to me. "The subject's photo and profile are there too."

As I perused the file I asked, "Do you always do this in teams of three?"

Woody was busily typing away at a laptop, bringing up dozens of images showing both the exterior and interior of the target house from throughout the day. "No one does field work alone, and you're not technically staff. This is more like two and a half."

I contemplated being offended for a second, but as I watched them work, not able to contribute much myself, I conceded that it was an accurate, if incredibly tactless, description.

The profile in the folder was on Matthew Mancini. He was young, good-looking. His photo wasn't a mug shot and it was much nicer than the faces I usually see when I get files from Vinnie. He had a catalog of moving violations, drug charges, and various assaults. He was more like one of my FTAs than Ranger's. All of it was fairly minor; speeding tickets, bar fights, possession of marijuana in the parking lot of a football game when he was in high school – and had never really been pursued by the police. His known associates and employment details were there as well, but if I had done the work up on his background I would have included a hell of a lot more than that. There were still too many blanks.

"So what's your interest in this guy?" I asked

"His brother-in-law hired us to look into him," Manny took up the tutorial as he demonstrated for me the routine battery checks for the cameras. "We've been watching him for a while now without getting what we need. It's expensive and the client is getting ready to pull the plug."

"What exactly is it that you're after?"

"Three objectives; document indisputable grounds for divorce, collect any and all details of his hidden financial assets, and ensure that he doesn't find out he's being watched and pull a runner. For the last one," Manny smiled as he told me, "we have clearance to use 'unorthodox' methods."

Woody passed a thick stack of photos to me. "You're the Trenton expert. Do you know anything more than what's there, another angle we haven't covered? We've got more than enough for divorce at this point, but we aren't having any luck with the money. Whatever he's doing with all of it, he isn't doing alone."

"Sorry, I don't know this Mancini guy," I apologized, progressing through the stack. With every image I glimpsed I became more and more uneasy. I recognized some of the faces. "But these others, the people he's with, they're the Galucci's."

"Yep."

The Galucci's were classic Cosa Nostra, complete with a code of honor and kiss of death. Tommy 'Papa' Galucci spent thirty years as Trenton's top urban outlaw, cultivating the image of a modern Robin Hood while operating more like the unbalanced, iron-fisted Baby Face Nelson. The family wasn't as powerful as it once had been – none of the families were – but it was tightly knit and still in business. And in Trenton there's a lot to be said for history and reputation.

"You can't run surveillance on the mafia." It made me even more nervous that I had to explain this to them. "Grizolli is small time in comparison and cooperates with locals out of self preservation and I know that Ramos has some kind of arrangement with Ranger, but Galucci is a different story. As far as gangsters go, he's a decent guy, but when he set up in Trenton he was backed by the Thumbelli's, who aren't nearly as decent."

"Yeah," Woody vouched. "We know who he is."

Their aloof manner puzzled me. "He's old school big fish, the kind even my dad tries hard not to cross."

"Right," Woody nodded, "because if you did, he might do something like hire us."

"Galucci is the client? He's the brother-in-law?" I gaped. "We're doing mob work?"

"We're doing a job that needs to get done," he clarified, "a private security firm hired to investigate a private matter."

I didn't like the sound of this at all. "Doesn't that make us culpable in anything that happens as a result?"

"Is Vinnie culpable if someone he bonded commits another crime?" Manny piped in. "Are you?"

Woody printed out more photo stills from the day and added them to the ones I was scanning. "All we're doing is gathering information and delivering it. That's as far as we go. If we don't do it, he'll get someone else and they might not share our ideas about ethical conduct. The thing is, Mancini has no idea what he's doing. He's got more balls than his brains can handle.

He's got 'Soprano Syndrome.' He watched too many movies and went and landed himself a wealthy, mobbed up, cougar. Now he's pushing his luck all over town like he's a made man. Papa G is convinced it's the reason he married Christy in the first place. Bottom line, if he's screwing over Papa G, he's going to be found out eventually and it won't be pretty no matter how or when it happens. This way is more expedient. We get a paycheck and Galucci appreciates our services."

"Maybe he really loves her," I suggested doubtingly, since I was currently viewing the snapshots of a very x-rated tryst between Mancini and a busty blonde.

"Maybe he does," Manny shrugged. "That doesn't mean he isn't walking on the wild-side by trying to pull one over on Galucci."

There had to be much more to this than infidelity. If it was just about disrespecting his sister, Papa G would handle it in-house. I flipped through the file again. "Besides dicking around on his sister, what does he think Mancini's doing that he wants to track his financials?"

"Matty's skimming and stashing from the fronts set up in Chirsty's name, using her as a funnel," Woody said, "and Galucci doesn't know where the money is going or who might be helping him do it."

"That's one hell of a retirement plan."

"It's nothing short of a death wish."

I nodded in agreement. Even after years of working for Vinnie, sometimes I'm still surprised at the levels of stupidity that I encounter almost daily. You can marry into money and protection, but you can't marry into power or favor, and when you start abusing the latter two, the first two disappear right out from under you, marriage license or not. Apparently, Mancini never got that memo. "Well, if you're looking for hidden assets, this stake out stuff isn't going to cut it," I told them. "Do you have something else in the works for that?"

They both gave their heads a shake.

"Bankers and accountants do lunch meetings. Even the crooked ones don't conduct business late at night in mafia dens of iniquity. Not unless they have a drug habit or something. It's too risky." There was one more laptop at the table that was not in use. "Can I use that to run down research the same way I do at Haywood?" I got the nod and set to work on what was missing from Mancini's financial records. There wasn't much, but I did manage to get his credit card charges. Combined with the GPS data they had for him, I found a pattern of charges and banking activity.

"Okay boys," I announced almost an hour later, "I found the place you should try first to get a lead on the money."

"Already?"

"He wasn't even trying to hide it," I dismissed his amazement. "He has a regular afternoon lunch meeting every other week that he puts on the one credit card he doesn't share with Christy. From there the GPS shows that he always goes somewhere within walking distance to one of his bank's branches. Find out who he's meeting for lunch and squeeze. The second lead to follow is the monstrous amount of money he dropped at a small, discount electronics shop a few months ago. Everything in the place wouldn't be worth that much. Plus, he knows the owner. They were picked up in the same bar fight a year ago. It's not one of your objectives, but it'd be helpful to find out what exactly he bought with that money. Whatever it is, I bet it'll interest Galucci." I pointed out the details and gave them the materials to look over for themselves.

A placid mood developed around us as the night wore on. The minutes, and then hours, crawled by with no sight or sound of a living soul from the house across the street. Kicked back in one of the dining room chairs, Woody was juggling three rolls of electrical tape, the tosses becoming more complicated and impressive as time wore on. The open floor plan of the house made it possible to see Manny in the front room. Spreadsheets were lined up on the coffee table, where he was bobbing his head to a song that only he could hear and running a finger down column after column of numbers, occasionally making tick marks with a highlighter. I spent the time researching Mancini and his history with the Galucci's.

Eventually Woody let out a frustrated huff. "Alright, what gives?" he asked and threw one of the rolls of tape at Manny, barely missing his head. "You're too quiet; it's freakin' me out."

Manny didn't even flinch. "Don't have anything to say," he answered without letting his attention stray from his task.

"Yeah, right. Usually I'm beggin' you to shut up by now."

Still focused, he rebuffed, "Be thankful you don't have to tonight."

"I can't take the quiet," Woody announced as he abandoned his juggling and started pacing. "Do your thing, you know, tell us something."

"It's not a party trick," Manny said sounding annoyed.

"Does this look like a party?" Woody shot back.

"Why don't you do _your_ thing if you're so bored?"

"Because mine actually is a party trick," Woody said. Then he glanced at me and smirked. "Come on, Man, Bombshell's never heard you do it."

My curiosity was in overdrive by that point. "Heard what?"

"Nothing," Manny insisted, looking slightly bashful.

"Aw, he's shy," Woody teased him. He sat back down at the table with me and leaned forward as if to confide some secret, but instead of softer, he spoke louder. "He has this crazy memory like you wouldn't believe. He competes."

"I do not compete," Manny denied immediately.

"You should. You're competitive enough," Woody told him and turned back to me, "I keep telling him that every year."

Manny glared at Woody. "What those people do is completely different. It's a skill they learn and perfect. Mnemonics are heavily involved. Sometimes they spend years develop – " Manny looked at me, almost surprised as if he'd forgotten I was there, and abruptly stopped talking.

"Go on, Man," Woody goded again, "tell us something." All of the taunting had left his request.

"Please," I asked Manny with my most winning smile. "I'm bored too. Whatever it is, I'd like to hear it."

Manny looked over at me like he was trying to muster the courage to refuse, but failing miserably. "Fine," he relented, still faintly blushed. He dropped his highlighter and sat back on the sofa, thinking to himself for a long moment. "Okay," he said as he sat up again. Then he took a breath and began an ardent, measured recitation.

_"Slowly England's sun was setting oe'r the hilltops far away, / Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; / And its last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,- / He with steps so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair; / He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she, with lips all cold and white, / Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night!"_

I listened to Manny tell Bessie's tale like they were old friends, as if it was a story he'd heard and told countless times. I was captivated by the lilting ballad.

_"O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him; and her brow, / Lately white with sickening horror, has no anxious traces now. / At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands, all bruised and torn; / And her sweet young face, still hagggard, with the anguish it had worn, / Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light. / "Go! your lover lives," said Cromwell. "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"_

_"Wide they flung the massive portals, led the prisoner forth to die, / All his bright young life before him. Neath the darkening English sky, / Bessie came, with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with lovelight sweet; / Kneeling on the turf beside him, laid his pardon at his feet. / In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and white, / Whispered, "Darling, you have saved me, curfew will not ring to-night."_ [*019]

Hushed by the words, all three of us sat in a reverent silence, as though we hoped that if we waited patiently enough, the verse might begin again. But the serene blanket of reflection that hung over us was torn away by a high-pitched giggle coming through the equipment.

"We've got one," Woody announced.

Manny was at a window, looking through a gargantuan viewfinder. "That's not our guy. That's the bagman who's tight with Mancini's uncle."

I turned to the monitors. A town car was parked outside the house. A man and woman were stumbling through the front door. He was middle-aged, greasy-haired, and hefty around the center. She was barely wearing a dress that I had a hard time even classifying as clothing, the straps hanging loosely from her skeletal frame. The man was practically dragging his companion; she was high out of her skull... and very young. "Jesus Christ," I hissed, "what is she, fourteen?"

"None of the other women who men have brought here were that young. No way she's legal," Manny concurred as he snapped photos.

Time slowed as we watched the man deposit his semiconscious cargo on a sofa and then retrieve a bottle of liquor from the kitchen. When I saw him trying to get the young woman to drink even more, bile and anger burned the back of my throat. I'd read files that listed men's crimes, all manner of despicable things. I do my best to find them and turn them over to the proper people. But I'd never been witness to anything so disgusting. I'd never been present in the moment when there was still some small chance to effect a change, to spare the victim. "I'm stopping this."

"Hey," Manny immediately reacted, "what are you going to do?"

The bagman started fondling the girl and drunkenly tugging at what there was of her clothing. My pulse revved up along with everything else. "I'm _not_ going to watch that girl get raped." Whereas time had seemed to slow a moment before, now it was speeding by. "That house, the target," I asked them in a rush, racing the urgency of the situation, "does it have a RangeMan security system?"

"Yeah," Woody answered. "It was part of our cover when we wired the house."

"What's the phone number over there?" I was flipping through the file as quickly as I could.

"Here." He handed me a sheet that had the number on it.

"What are you doing?" Manny insisted again.

"Whatever I have to." I punched in the number with my eyes glued to the screen. We could hear the phone ringing at the other end, once, twice, a third time, then a fourth. It felt like an eternity, every second cursing the girl with another sickening grope from her mobbed-up oppressor. But the rings were ignored and the call was directed to the answering machine. "Shit, he isn't going to answer." I hung up and dialed again. "Come on."

"Why are you calling?" Woody asked.

I waited for the machine to pick up the second time and used my most professional voice, "Your home's security system has been triggered. Are you in need of emergency assistance?" I waited for the man to react, but he didn't. Instead, he was getting more aggressive as the girl became less coherent. I heard my own voice coming through the computer's speakers. "The authorities have been contacted. Emergency response is en route." Still no reaction, he was too wasted to even notice. "Fuck!"

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Woody and Manny had never seen Stephanie so agitated. She was practically vibrating. Her eyes had a dangerous light in them. She snapped her phone shut and surprised them both when she snatched Woody's knife and marched toward the back door. "Hey," he exclaimed.

"Where are you going?" Manny demanded, following her.

She rounded on them, "Stay here."

"Like hell."

"Stay here," she repeated with force, holding his gaze.

"Manny," Woody reigned him. He knew a serious woman when he saw her.

Reluctantly, Manny watched Stephanie charge through the back door and out into the night. They tracked her via the cameras as she raced across one screen and then another. She sprinted for the house, skirting the sides of the houses next door before dashing across the street. "We should stop her," Manny said, glancing at the purse she had left behind on the table.

Stephanie kept close to the garage. It was hard to make her out in the shadows of the side yard without a night vision lens. Then she disappeared behind the house and they lost all visual on her. "You can't stop Bombshell," Woody disagreed, franticly cycling through all of the cameras' vantages in search of Stephanie.

Manny went back to the window where the highly magnified lenses were. "You don't think she'll use that knife, do you? He looks almost as high as the girl."

"She'll use it. That's why she took it."

Manny couldn't believe they were just going to stay behind while Stephanie took off with a knife and hatred in her eyes. "Tank will kill us if he finds out that she went over there alone."

"Ranger will kill us if we blow our cover or compromise this job." Woody continued searching the camera feeds with no results. "This is a 'lesser of two evils' situation. We have to trust her."

"No, we don't. Not like this. Are your scales busted? The greater evil is that Ranger will annihilate us if she so much as breaks a nail. She's alone and we know that guy is strapped!"

"What do you want to do about it, huh, storm the house? Or stop her and let the guy carry on? We don't have a lot of options here. At least she seems to have a plan. She's wearing her vest. Give her a chance."

A few seconds later, the security panic alarm was blaring at the target house. The bagman finally noticed that. The Rangemen watched through the monitors as he scrambled away from the girl and searched for the system's control panel, randomly pressing buttons when he found it, trying to silence its shrill cry. The phone began to ring and when the machine engaged, Stephanie's voice came over the line again. "Your security system has been triggered. Are you in need of emergency assistance?"

He whipped the phone off its cradle and shouted, "No. I don't need any help." He wore a restless path in the carpet, "well cancel it; it's a false alarm," rubbing at his face, tugging at his hair. "Yes, it's my house and I'm telling you not to send anyone!" He went back to the girl, prowling impatiently across the room in front of her. She was limp and groaning, laying on her side holding her stomach, her eyes rolling in her head. The alarm was still shrieking. "I lost the damn code!" He listened for another minute and then threw the phone. He stood in the middle of the room, staring at the girl, trying to make his intoxicated mind work and as the seconds ticked by Woody was waiting to see him make a decision, to see him pull a weapon, to see an angry and determined Stephanie rush into the room to the girls' rescue. But then… nothing. The bagman rushed out of the house and speed away, leaving the girl behind.

"He just bailed on her so she'll take the heat for breaking into the house," Manny's voice was disbelieving.

"He did her a favor," Woody replied as the screen showed Stephanie finally entering the house and kneeling at the girl's side. "Go help Bombshell."

Manny traced Stephanie's path and by the time he arrived she had already moved the girl to the bathroom. She was holding her upright over the toilet, splashing cold water on her neck and trying to get her to vomit. She didn't even glance in Manny's direction as she ordered, "go get a glass of hot water and check if they have any mustard; there's no emetic here."

With one eye on the efforts to revive the girl, Woody answered the call he was expecting to come from RangeMan. "Woody."

"There's an alarm at your surveillance location. Report."

"Location secure. Personnel operational. False alarm code three one three gold. We had a situation and needed to get someone out of the house. Disable it for now. Manny and Plum are over there. Send Brown. We have a possible overdose." Woody disconnected and returned to his vigil.

While Woody kept lookout on the outside of the house, Stephanie and Manny were inside with the girl, keeping her from choking on her own sick as her head lolled.

"Help me hold her up." Manny took the girl and held her upright as Stephanie forced her to drink more of the mustard water. "Come on, you need this. Drink it." The girl was groaning and trying to speak, but her words were too slurred to understand. As Stephanie poured the last of the noxious mixture into her mouth, Manny felt the girl's body begin to spasm with another round of retching. When she was through, Stephanie washed her face with a cold, wet cloth while she caught her breath. Her eyes looked more focused. "What's your name?"

"Dinah," she gasped, clinging to them as if she lost her grip she may drift off the planet and enter orbit.

"I'm Stephanie."

They sat with Dinah as she slipped in and out of a drug haze. It wasn't long before Bobby arrived. He took in the scene and asked, "what happened?"

"An overdose, alcohol poisoning I think," Stephanie explained. "Her name's Dinah. She was already messed up when the guy brought her here and then he kept feeding her liquor."

"Assault? Rape?"

"No, we scared him off in time."

He checked her vitals and gave her the once over, examining the track marks on her arm. "What have you done for her so far?"

"Just mustard water," she answered, drawing a curious glance from him. "She's already thrown up a lot."

Bobby nodded. "Dinah," he said, trying to get her to focus on him, "You'll be alright once I get you to a hospital. My name's Bobby. Can you stand for us?" She couldn't, so she was carried out to the truck.

Bobby took Dinah to the hospital, Manny stayed behind to clean up the mess and put the system back in order, and Stephanie went back to Woody at the surveillance house.

Her plodding gait retraced her hurried steps from earlier. She looked like death warmed over, none of her usual energy about her. There was no greeting as she entered, no acknowledgement that she wasn't the only one in the room. She sat down in front of one of the computers and stared blankly at the screen.

"Are you alright?" Woody asked, concerned. She only nodded. "And the girl will be alright too?" Again, all he received was a nodded confirmation. Trying to get her to speak, he asked, "How did you set off the alarm?"

"I cut the wire to one of the sensors out back," she explained in a dull tone, "I knew that would trip it,"

Woody was impressed. "That was good."

She didn't respond, only sat there in a vacant state. It was starting to worry him, almost as much as the way she looked at him when she asked, "would you have let it happen? If I hadn't run out when I did, would you have just let it go on?"

"No." he sat down opposite her. "We would have waited until we had no other choice; then we would have gone in to take him down. We would have stopped it." Stephanie examined his face like she couldn't decide whether or not to believe him, and her doubt stung Woody. "The reason we'd wait until we had no other option is that intervening would blow our cover here and everyone would find out that the house is being watched. It would jeopardize the entire operation and RangeMan would probably lose the account." The detached, downtrodden expression she wore didn't change. "What you did was perfect. You saved the girl without compromising our cover."

"Her name is Dinah."

"Dinah," he corrected himself and held Stephanie's eye, trying to understand what she was thinking behind her blank stare. "You know, he won't get away with it. We have him on tape."

Stephanie didn't answer. She looked down at the knife that was still in her hand and held it out to return it to Woody.

He didn't take it. "You should hang on to that one."

"No," she repeated emphatically, holding it out farther. "I don't like knives."

He gave in and reluctantly accepted the knife. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I feel like I need a shower."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The penthouse apartment was quiet. A faint glow from the digital clock read outs and power indicators on the front of electronics lit the path to the bedroom just enough to keep from walking into furniture or walls. I paused for a moment, taking it in. [*020] I wasn't fleeing from danger and in need of a safe house; I was invited. Ranger was in bed, waiting for me. I dropped my keys in the dish beside his. I kicked off my boots and placed them near the door beside his. I set my purse on the side table beside his stack of mail. My utility belt, holster, and vest all hung alongside his on the hooks near his door. I shed my clothes in the dark and donned one of his shirts, retrieved from one of his drawers. _His_.

I couldn't see much, but I knew exactly how far it was from the bathroom to the bed. I didn't climb in immediately, though. I stood back a step. "I know you're awake." I didn't bother whispering. The next thing I knew I was being pulled down onto the bed and gathered up in his arms.

He spooned up behind me, kissed my neck, and whispered, "Babe."

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*019 : Rose Hartwick Thorpe – Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight (c. 1867) ]<br>[*020 : Teddy Thompson – Tonight Will Be Fine ]

** A/N: Thank you to all of my returning readers and generous reviewers. You make this creative process more rewarding.  
>Unfortunately I have another preemptive apology. I hope you enjoyed this quick and prompt update, but it remains very atypical; don't get ideas. I'm still as slow as I ever was. This was just a special case. **<p> 


	21. Chapter 21

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – ****Chapter 21**

I stretched and luxuriated in Ranger's decadent sheets for a few minutes before the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drew me to the kitchen. Ranger smiled softly when he saw me. He was camped at the table, finished with his PT and freshened for the workday, not a hint of the late hours he'd kept the night before. I was wearing a t-shirt, bags under my eyes, a rat's nest on my head, and one sock. My fingertips grazed along the back of his shoulders as I passed, noting only crumbs left on his plate and the business section of the newspaper in his hand. After fetching myself some coffee and a healthy portion of Ella's vegetable frittata, I settled in the chair across from him and an inapposite sensation of rote domesticity struck me. I'd spent many unusual moments with Ranger over the years, but very few ordinary ones. It was the first time we were doing this at his place, just because, on a regular day. It had nothing to do with a contract on my head or the latest boogie man that was sending me notes. _So, this was how Ranger started his everydays?_ Curious. Of course, I supposed there wasn't a way for me to ever completely know how Ranger lived when I wasn't involved or present, but my imagination certainly liked trying.

I wondered if there was anyone who really knew Ricardo Manoso, or if he was, in some way, an enigma to everyone. Every time I began to think I had a handle on him I'd get a glimpse of something new and find myself right back at the starting line again. Sure, the 'man of mystery' was exciting in numerous arenas, but ultimately that was only superficial and rarely rewarding beyond the immediate. Conversely, the ease with which he and I were continually finding ourselves living these recurrences of the commonplace was a much more intriguing prospect. Ranger and the mundane made for an interesting combination.

Over the years we've spent far more early mornings together than we've spent late nights, and I found each one more engrossing than the last. Observing him over breakfast was an improvised social experiment and virtual character study rolled into one. He read the paper in the morning – with those same sharp, alert eyes that roamed shadows and darkness at night, keeping so many people safe. And once he'd read through to the sports pages, always surprisingly quickly, he would fold it into thirds with the crossword puzzle facing out. He had an odd habit of stirring his coffee even though he never added any sugar or cream, although strangely enough he never stirred his tea. When he drank tea, he lifted the cup and swished it round before taking his first sip. When he checked the time in the mornings, he always checked both his watch and his phone to make sure they were the same and I'd seen him occasionally check that mine was in sync as well. I was almost positive that he had a mental tally of how many minutes wrong each of the clocks in my apartment were. And just like everyone else in the world, he put his pants on one leg at a time – in his case, as far as I'd seen, it was the left that was always first for each his legs, socks, and shoes. (I mentally laughed at myself. It bordered on ridiculous that I couldn't manage to hold onto a train of thought for more than five minutes without it eventually pulling in at the 'pantless Ranger' station.) Most importantly though, lately he was expressive, as if the steely stoicism he consistently wore wasn't natural at all, but an attitude he had to ready himself to project. Thanks to these short glimpses of that, I was starting to see things in him that I'd never expected to find.

Yet despite it all, I couldn't fight the feeling that there was more, so much more, to him and all of it hidden away from me. _How many of the tiny details of a man can you discover and still feel like you don't know him?_

_My man._ No. That was't right.

For several minutes, I watched him watching me. Even if I convinced myself that I wasn't pretending, even if I truly believed this man was mine, I knew that this man across from me wasn't my dark, dangerous, sultry Ranger who raised the ambient temperature at the bonds office and made hoodlums mess their pants. This guy, the one I woke up with every morning, he was all of those things, but more. He _was_ different than I'd known him to be... maybe this was Ricardo.

Whoever he was, he set the newspaper aside and watched me eat for a few minutes before opening with, "I heard about what happened last night."

Of course he had. People couldn't be more informed about the play by play of my life if there was a twenty four hour news network dedicated to it. "I added an emetic to the list of inventory to stock the vehicles' first aid kits," I said. "I was going to take the expense papers up to Alvirez later today." I kept eating and he kept watching me expectantly. I held his gaze, "Should I be expecting lectures in my near future?"

"No." I could see him trying to gauge my reaction even before he continued, "Woody's worried about you."

I rolled my eyes. They were all a bunch of Meddling Maggie's. "I'm fine. He should save his worry for Dinah, and the next girl." I cut my eyes to Ranger. He didn't look satisfied. _Yeah, I sort of figured that explanation wouldn't cut it_. I sighed and set down my fork. "It wasn't anything like I expected," I tried to express the way the night had affected me. "You know that feeling you get when you find the last piece, you figure it out and get the guy? Well, I don't feel that way, just tired and empty."

"Tired, maybe," Ranger said with sober regard, "but you're not empty."

I nearly groaned; he wasn't hearing me. "She needs someone, some _real_ help. And I don't have any – "

"You have it," he interrupted, "you're not empty, Stephanie. You're so full of life it spills out around you." _Seriously? He was going to say something sweet like that? Right now?_ It was a beautiful thing to say. It made my heart flutter and my lips long for his, but what else is new? What his kind words _didn't_ do was change anything. I got up and took my dishes into the kitchen. I rinsed them for Ella and continued to fidget around in the sink, not thrilled about the idea of returning to the conversation I'd abandoned.

I should know better than to think I can dodge Ranger for long. He came up behind me and put his hand on the back of my neck. "How about the real story, Babe?"

Sometimes I felt so silly when I stood next to him, like all of the complicated parts of my life that I stress about are really very simple and I just failed to notice on my own, what becomes so obvious when he's with me. "I don't usually have front row seats like that," I answered, speaking to the sink rather than my sexy pacifier. "I hate the way it felt to be that angry."

His hand kneaded the base of my neck and I bit back a soft moan. "It's natural to be angry. Use it and then leave it on the job."

"I could have seriously hurt that guy without an ounce of guilt or remorse. Last night I was capable of just about anything," I confessed with self-rancor tinged by fears of what I might be capable of. "I'd rather be empty."

He pulled me to him and held me close, speaking against my ear, "You're not empty. You couldn't be." His hand worked its way lower on my back and I stopped trying to hold back the sounds of approval and his voice fell an octave in response. "It'll get easier," he assured.

_But who would want that to get easier?_ I don't ever want it to be easy for me to witness something so vile. I don't want to get used to that. My doubts still had a firm grip over me. I was only just starting to get settled in at RangeMan, but still I was stalling the final decision, now more unsure than ever about whether I could handle it. How could I explain that to Ranger? This company was his life.

He kissed me then, a beginner's kiss, gently probing and exploring, as if he'd never kissed me before. I was bewitched by it. Doubts, disturbing memories, and job stress melted away. Nothing mattered but him and the way he could make the familiar feel like discovery.

"Stay with me again tonight," he asked, his eyes full of a thousand promises. _Oh god, this was too much too early in the day_.

My reply was a simple, involuntary, "yes," refusal impossible. He kissed me again and kept kissing me until my phone rang. I reached down to check the number on my cell. "Ugh, it's my mother."

"Can't ignore your mother," he informed me between gentle, meandering nips that trailed down to my collarbone.

"I can't?" Surely that was better than talking to her when I was this breathless. What was he trying to pull?

He shook his head no, lightly dragging his lips back and forth across my skin. "Better answer that."

I gave him a very reluctant push away, "tease," but he just smiled and went back to his paper while I answered the call. "Hi, mom."

She started right in. "Stephanie, I'm glad you finally answered. Why you ignore your mother's calls, of all people…"

"I haven't been ignoring you, Ma," I attested, catching Ranger's quiet chuckles drift in from the next room when he overheard my denial.

"Well, that doesn't matter right now anyway," she brushed it off. She was worked up about something. "Have you heard the big news from your sister yet?"

"No."

"She got married!"

_Holy Krimpets!_ "What? When?"

"Last night."

"What? I mean, how? To Albert?"

"Of course to Albert, who else would it be? They asked us if we could watch the girls last night and then a few hours after they dropped them off they called and said they were married," she explained in a rush. "They drove down to a bed & breakfast in Virginia where there was a small ceremony. She e-mailed Angie the wedding photos. She wore the dress we'd picked out, but she had her hair down. We had gone to so much trouble with the decision about her headpiece she should have worn it. Instead she had some type of headband with a flower on it and a few stones. I don't understand what she was thinking with that or any of the flowers. Maybe the place didn't have much to offer. If she had gone to Sylvia's before leaving town she could have gotten a good price on something much more elegant. She offers all of those colored baby's breath now, you can match it to just about any color scheme you choose…"

"Ma," I interrupted, "I don't need every detail."

"Well, it wasn't what I had in mind for her, but it was really very nice for what it was. They're going to be there for a few days while the girls stay here with us in your old room."

_Shit, she was really serious_. Valerie got married. "And you're not angry about this?"

"Oh, I'm just so relieved. Your father and I had almost given up hope for the two of you." _Yeah, I'm sure my father's been holding his breath to walk one of us down the aisle. Again_. "Thank you, Stephanie. Thank you."

Now that was a new one. I couldn't remember the last time my mother thanked me for something. It made for a vast improvement over blame though, so I'm not complaining or anything. "For what?"

"For talking her into it."

_Say what now?_ "Who told you that?"

"She said that if you hadn't come to talk to her the other night she wasn't sure she would have ever gone through with it. That is such a sweet thing to do for your sister." She was starting to choke up with emotion. "Now the girls have a family again. Val really is lucky to have you as her sister." She was sniffling on the other end of the line and I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I heard her blow her nose and hem an apology. Then regaining her enthusiasm, she told me, "We're having a special dinner tonight and wanted to let you and Ranger know about it right away. I know you're busy, but this will be to celebrate and show my appreciation to you; so you can't miss it. The girls are looking forward to seeing you and showing you all the pictures. And you and I are going to have pineapple upside down cake and champagne." Did she say pineapple upside down cake? Maybe a pinch wasn't enough. I might need a suplex to wake from this dream. "Now I have to get going. Your grandmother and I are going to the beauty parlor to tell everyone the news. I can expect you both tonight, right? At six o'clock."

"Um, yeah, we'll be there," I answered in a daze.

"Alright dear, I'll see you tonight. And thank you so much."

I hung up and stared at the phone in my hand in bewilderment. Most of the night at Valerie's was a blur, but I think I would have remembered persuading her to elope. We'd talked about marriage and kids, Joe and Ranger, and she told me about Steve and Albert. There was some reminiscing, I think. Other than that, I was clueless.

"Who's we?" Ranger's brusque question flung me away from my foggy bramble of memories.

I looked over at him, "What?"

He was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. He had his blank face on and was classic, strong and somber Ranger once again. "On the phone with your mother, you told her 'we' would be there," he clarified curtly. "Who were you talking about?"

"We?" I covered a small gasp with my hand when I realized what he was asking about, "Oh, I'm sorry. I meant us, you and I; my mother invited us to dinner. She caught me off guard and I couldn't think of an excuse for you. I'm sorry. You don't have to go. She'll understand." I noticed his tight fists relax as I explained.

"A dinner invite from your mother isn't exactly shocking."

"Val got married last night. She eloped." That news only warranted a raised eyebrow from him. "My parents are watching the girls until they get back and she's making a special dinner tonight to celebrate. She wants to thank me." That tidbit lifted the other eyebrow as well. I threw my hands up and huffed, "Apparently I talked Val into it. I don't see how. I don't remember it, and despite the fact that I think Val will be happy with Albert, heaven knows I'm not a real big fan of marriage at the moment." Ranger was studying me closely and I was afraid that I'd blush inconveniently when I remembered my panicked denial to Lula's question about Ranger asking me to marry him. I rambled on attempting to hide from his uncanny ability to read my thoughts, "On the bright side I'll get to have cake, and maybe now she'll stop praying to Saint Andrew for a son-in-law and just focus on Saint Matilda and her general disappointment in me."

"I wish you'd stop that," he said low enough it was almost more to himself than me, and reached out to pull me closer. "I have to go, but I needed to tell you that Brower called first thing today; we've got a meeting scheduled. So don't get distracted by any new adventures with your family. You already have plans."

I had the urge to salute. "Yes, sir, Bossman."

Not amused, he jerked me forward against him drawing a mini-squeak from me. "Don't ever call me boss." His hold on me was so tight it lifted me up onto my toes. "When you're up here with me you aren't working."

"Okey-dokey," was my semi-shocked response and his good-bye kiss was almost deep enough to erase the word 'tease' from my vocabulary entirely.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank knocked as he opened the door, not waiting for a response and catching Ranger before he had the chance to school his features. "I saw that," he taunted his friend's smile. Tank walked into the office with his own wide grin, the one reserved for special occasions. His eyes suggestively flicked to the ceiling when Ranger turned to see who was entering. "Tell me what I want to hear!" There were no secrets in the Haywood building. The entire company knew that Stephanie had spent the night on the seventh floor.

Giving only a blank face and flat stare, an unamused Ranger answered, "I finished going over the new hire files. So you can get on that as soon as possible. Pits called to say he needs more personnel and we can't keep sending our guys up there. They're already over-worked."

Tank threw up a hand and crashed down into one of Ranger's visitor chairs. "Bro, that is so disappointing! Do I need to give you the 'birds and bees' speech again, because whoever did it the first time must have left something out if you're this clueless."

"I have work to do."

Tank laughed and gestured skyward with his thumb, "and not just down here."

"T, I'm warning you, I'm not in the mood."

"When are you ever? You should really tell me. I'll let Steph in on the secret and then maybe she'll know the best time for her to get the ball rolling – "

"Tank!" Ranger had reached his limit of Tank's suggestive cajoling.

"Fine, fine." He held up his hands and rose from his seat. He knew when to push and when to let it go. "I'll buzz you when Brower gets here." Grabbing the files on his way out, he left a disquieted Ranger with a muttered, "never could figure why she loves your dumb ass."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

When I logged in at my desk, I still had the night before on my mind and saw that Bobby was working in the building. I went in search of him and found him in the fifth floor storage rooms. "Hey, Brown, how did things go last night after you left?"

He didn't even look up from his clipboard. "The hospital called family services. I stayed until the case worker showed up. The girl was stable when I left. She'll be fine for a while."

My eyelids stuttered for a second. "What do you mean a _while_? Is she sick?"

"She's a junkie. When she's desperate enough again she'll get into another man's car and end up in some other strange house." His flippant remark was a sock in the gut, and it must have shown on my face because when he glanced at me he elaborated, "that guy wasn't the only one responsible for her condition. She had weeks of marks up her arms and she refused to cooperate or answer questions. It wasn't the first time she'd been to the E.R. for intoxication and trauma; she already has a long record."

"She's just a kid," was all I heard myself say, despite the fact I was shouting, '_how can you be so cold?_' in my head.

"Sixteen going on sixty," he said and looked up again when I didn't answer. "Don't get involved. The job is dangerous enough; it doesn't need personal complications. Neither does she."

"She needs help."

He sighed, "If she wants it, she'll get it, from the right people. In this case, we aren't it. You're not the right person, Plum. It's not your place."

I've never stood for being dictated 'my place' before and I wasn't about to start. "And you get to decide that?"

He regarded me like I was a bothersome child. "It isn't anyone's decision; it's just the truth. You don't have the time, the training, or the means. If you wanted to save people, you should have been a social worker or a cop. Saving the world isn't in our job description."

I was floored. "You're a Ranger and a medic. You save people all the time."

"Field medicine and triage; proper medical is every bit as much a weapon as a gun," he clarified. "I provide tactical treatment. I'm not responsible for counseling the city's lost children." With that he grabbed the boxes he'd been looking for off the shelves and left me wondering if it was the conversation or the company that had pissed me off so much.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"I'm looking for Stephanie Plum. Is she around?"

Connie arched a brow in surprise as she recognized Oakenstaff from his mugshot. Usually Stephanie had to put some effort into locating her skips. This was the first time one had ever walked into the office looking for her.

"Who's lookin'?" Before Connie could speak, Lula entered through the back door with one eye on her designer, silver heels and the other on the hand digging through her purse in search of the matching nail polish. She frowned when she finally set eyes on the man she was addressing. "I know you. You the ass with mean dogs, Ogrestick or somethin'."

"They aren't mean," he claimed in their defense, "they just get protective when someone tries to break into my house."

Lula pulled out her polish and shook it in his direction, with a furious tic-tic-tic of the mixer pellet. "Hey, I gotta right ta bust in and grab ya – "

Connie knew better than to let that exchange go on any longer than necessary, "What do you want with Stephanie?"

Returning his attention to Connie, he explained, "She gave me her card, but I lost it. If she isn't here, can you give me her number or address or something?"

"I'm not giving you her number until I know why you want it," Connie told him, "and even then I might say no."

"I just need to talk to her."

The plethora of oddities and danger that Stephanie consistently encountered through her work was not something Connie took lightly, especially when if they followed her back to the office. So she felt fully justified in her caution. "Leave a message with us; we'll give it to her."

"No, I can't do that; I need to speak to her."

"Don't tell him nuthin'," Lula reinforced Connie's reticence. "He'll prolly chop her into tiny pieces and feed her to his dogs."

"Give me Lester's number then," Auggie sighed, recognizing defeat. "He's her bodyguard or whatever, right? He'll know where she is."

The women took a moment to ponder that. "You know Lester?" Connie asked after exchanging a look with Lula.

"Yeah, big guy, bad manners, quiet type."

The fact he knew Lester vouched for his familiarity with Stephanie, but the fact that he thought Lester was her bodyguard attested to how little that familiarity stretched. "Here," Connie jotted down the number of RangeMan's main line, "call them. They'll know how to get in touch with her. And Lester too if you want."

"Thanks." Augustus accepted the number and contemplated the possibility that calling it might put him in contact with the 'boss' or 'man in black' that had put everyone in his cell on edge the night before and elicited caution from even street-harden men. Not for the first time, he thought that maybe he should just mind his own business.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Brower, Tank, Hal, and Ranger were all business around the conference table. I was feeling less professional and just trying as hard as I could not to remember the day Con attacked me and everything else that happened. I had been pretty stressed lately and this call back to Con Stiva wasn't helping matters. A nap would help. Cake would help. The supportive pressure of Ranger's hand on my neck as he passed my chair helped a little. But once he was on the other side of the table I was thinking that a sturdy belt of Jack Daniels might help even more.

Brower started us off. He'd called the meeting, so this was his party. "I've gotten a few calls. It looks like your circumstances have changed."

"How?" Tank inquired.

"I was originally told that you were expected to return at some point in the following week, once all of the evidence had been collected and the right papers were filed, to answer questions and give your final official statements. That doesn't seem to be the case anymore. I tried to put them off for as long as I could, but they want Ms. Plum to come in for questioning."

The table was immediately alert and Ranger was in professional commando mode. "Do they believe Stiva's version of events?"

"I can't speak to that."

"They can't possibly think he's credible," Tank chimed in. "Do they have other witnesses who are contradicting our story?"

"All that I can tell you is that I've been contacted by the prosecutor's office. They've asked me to bring you in to the station as soon as possible – meaning today – or they would be forced to compel your presence for an interview." He was looking at me as he spoke and it made my heart rate speed up.

"Why?" I asked, appalled. "It shouldn't matter what Stiva says, even if it is true. He's crazy."

"Legally, he's sane."

I ran my hands over my face in frustration. _Shit. I had totally forgotten about all of this. _I'd gotten a little creative with my interpretation of the law this week, but nobody official knew about any of that. I should have been keeping tabs with Eddie, but I'd let myself get sidetracked. _This has to be about those damn keys they never found_. I'd been so distracted lately that I'd completely stashed this little bit of nightmare out of the way in my denial file, to be traumatized by at a later date. "I don't get it. Why is there a problem? I mean, Con and Spiro were both criminals, and not the two-bit kind either. They were in deep; with military property, guns, weapons, money, and shit like that. He was committing fraud for years, decades even. The man went on a murderous rampage, complete with assault and kidnapping and arson and bombs! For Christ's sake, the sick fuck was stalking me and gallivanting around town with mortician's putty on his face impersonating his disfigured and deceased son. That lunatic locks me in a casket and tells me he's going to kill me and then I just tap him with the Buick and all of a sudden the shit hits the fan and everyone is looking at me like I'm the bad guy? There's something wrong with this picture gentlemen! Or is it just me? Am I over reacting? 'Cause it sure as hell doesn't feel like it." I looked around for some commiseration, but didn't find any. The others just let me vent and then got on with business as if it I hadn't said anything. _Ugh!_

Brower glanced between Ranger and Tank. "Do you know of any reason why the investigators might have changed their minds and are now behaving as if Ms. Plum is a suspect instead of a victim?"

"No," Ranger answered. "Other than the Baltimore problem with Amado and the DEA, RangeMan hasn't been involved in anything official. The stalker-related concern that Stephanie's had since then wasn't reported and wouldn't be enough to call any of us in for questioning."

I caught Tank's eye, wondering if he would mention Casper. The police had no concrete reason to connect me to him unless he accused me of something, and if he had I was sure I would have heard about it, but Tank's TPD contact _did_ know that Tank was looking for Casper, as did Juniak. Tank gave me a tiny shake of his head, signaling me to keep quiet.

"Any other reasons we might get a call from the police?" Brower pursued.

I gave the guys a minute to speak up and tell Brower that it was something other than what I suspected. They didn't know about the minor issue with the Buick and I hadn't considered it significant enough to warrant this much fuss. Maybe the old woman from the records office talked. Maybe someone saw me with Bob outside Joe's house that night. Maybe the Brigade was stirring up more trouble and attracting attention. Maybe one of the guys knew of just _one, tiny reason_ that didn't concern me. At least I was hoping they did. But the seconds tick by and they didn't say anything. So I knew I'd have to.

"I might." Brower focused on me and gave me the same bemused look he'd worn that night at the station. Again, he hadn't expected me to have the answers he was looking for.

I cleared my throat, feeling awkward. This tiny snag was my fault for overlooking an important detail last time. "The police might be suspicious because they haven't been able to find the keys to the Buick and it wasn't hotwired." I took his patient silence as my cue to elaborate. "I'm pretty sure they want to ask me to explain how Con could have managed to drive it over to Spiro's place without the keys. It seems like a tiny detail, but that tiny detail confirms part of Con's version of events. They can't explain it and there's nothing Eddie can do about it. He can 'lose' all manner of evidence, but he can't make something materialize when and where it's convenient." I dug around in my purse for a minute and set the keys on the table. "As it turns out, lucky for us, Con _did_ take the keys from me and use them that night. He had them on him when Tank secured him in the Explorer. They fell out of his pocket and have been there under the seat all along, but we didn't find them until this morning. Or a different day? Or maybe we should wait and '_find_' them after they question me about it?"

Tank and Hal both looked back and forth from the keys to me. Ranger didn't. He wasn't looking at anything but me.

_Please don't ask me about it. Please don't ask me to explain it any further._

Brower on the other hand stared at the keys like he was too afraid to look at me. "How do you know about this?" When I didn't answer he glanced at the notes in front of him and asked, "Gazarra?"

"No." _Just drop it. I have the keys and know what to say when we're asked about them. Let it go._

The line of his lips tightened. "Ms. Plum, if you've discussed this case with a third party or talked to the police without counsel pres -"

"I haven't," I quickly interrupted. I didn't have to meet their eyes to know they were all still staring at me; I could feel it. "And how many times have I asked you to call me Stephanie?"

He pressed harder, "I need to know. If someone found one inconsistency with your statements, the more likely they are to find others. It could easily complicate matters for all of you." He fixed a stern eye on me and asked again, "How did you find out that the police have questions about your keys? Have they tried to contact you?"

I knew I had to tell him, but I was having trouble forming the words. How do I explain to them that I knew because Joe told me when I'd been to see him? It was still painful just to think about him, let alone talk about it in front of people, especially these men. I was having trouble breathing. The room felt smaller all of a sudden, flooded with my memories from that last night with Joe. They didn't belong there at that table with us.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ranger sit forward slightly. "Babe?"

I focused on a spot on the wall just over Brower's shoulder. I couldn't face their reactions as I admitted, "Morelli."

"The officer with the injured leg?" Brower asked with puzzled disbelief.

"Yes." _Let. It. Go._ I tried to silence him with a sheer force of will.

"How much does he know about the incident?"

Even if Joe hadn't been involved, he would have figured it out on his own. He really was a good cop and he knew me better than most people. "Almost all of it."

"And that's why Gazarra made the remark about his disagreement with your statement?" Brower was making some illegible notes on his pad. After my nod, he continued his questioning, "is this detective going to be a problem?"

The room was silent, waiting on my answer. I couldn't take it any longer; I glanced up at Ranger. His gaze was intense, angry. I had to bow my head and close my eyes, trying to maintain composure. After the way Joe and I had left things, I honestly wasn't sure how he was going to behave. I wanted to think that he'd told me about the keys as a warning, that he did it to protect me. I hoped he still cared enough not to want to see me prosecuted, no matter how hurt or angry he was, but I wasn't positive that would still be the case now. "I don't know."

Brower wasn't happy with that answer. "Well, is he a friend, because he didn't seem it? Did he tell you about it so that you'd be prepared when the issue came up?"

I shook my head, "I don't know."

"Was it a threat? Is it a possibility that he'd use what he knows against you in some way?" Brower's tone softened as if he was speaking to a frightened, young girl. I sort of felt like one just then.

"He'd never threaten me," I assured him. Joe was a lot of things, but he wasn't a blackmailer. He wasn't a threat. At least not to me, he wasn't.

"Ms. Plum -"

"Stephanie."

Brower gave a pained sigh, "Stephanie. Maybe it would be better if you just explained to me what you discussed."

His suggestion propelled me from my seat at the table. It was out of the question. That was one conversation I was never going to recount to anyone. "We didn't discuss it," I insisted, knowing it wouldn't be enough of an explanation to satisfy anyone in the room. I stood apart from them with my back turned, running my hands through my hair and taking deep breaths. There was no way around it. I was going to have to explain. Finally I turned back and confessed, "I don't know why he told me or what he meant by it. I'm not even sure that he told me on purpose." My arms folded defensively over my chest, protecting me against all of their unasked questions. I swallowed thickly and had to blink back tears, because I'd have really rathered to keep those to myself as well. "He was drunk and shouting and we both said a lot of things. He might not even remember that he mentioned it." I sunk back into my chair, knowing how weak of an explanation that was despite its honesty.

Brower was quiet for several moments, watching me fight to hold myself together. He must have decided that he'd pushed far enough because he dropped his eyes and picked up his pen, beginning to work on whatever the hell lawyers wrote down to help them convince judges they were right about something. And in this case, Brower was right to stop harping on the issue. He'd pushed me farther than enough. I'd already told them more than I'd wanted to about it and had no plans for divulging any more of it in the near future. If that meant rolling the dice concerning Joe's intentions, then so be it. "For now," he spoke once he'd put down his pen, "they're only asking that you, Stephanie, come down to the station. My guess is that their need for the others to repeat their statements will heavily depend on what you have to say. It would really be best if we did this as soon as possible. I have time set aside this afternoon. We can head over there now if you're available."

"We'll all go now," Ranger pronounced with his eyes still locked on me.

"No, it's okay," I spoke up. "I'll go on my own today."

"Babe."

"No," I almost shouted at him. If Morelli was there and was a part of this, that sort of entourage would be like kicking a wasp nest in bare feet. "You're busy. Besides, this is just a formality right?" I bullied Brower for support.

"Of course," he answered in a way that didn't reassure any of us. He didn't take much longer with his note-taking and I wondered if he had any idea how disappointed I was when he told me that he'd meet me at the station. Was he so spoiled by that car of his that he was not aware of the fact that anyone in their right mind would want a ride from him? Especially someone who was having a bad afternoon that would probably get worse? A ride in his Continental GT might go a long way to cushioning more than just my ass.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

_Fucking Morelli._ Of course he'd try to swoop in and take over. He should have told me about this. This was usually the kind of shit he'd actually call to let me know. And rub in my face.

"Babe," I said again when Stephanie stood as Brower left the room.

"Ranger." Stephanie didn't follow Brower out, but she wouldn't look at me either.

Asking my question took a fuck load more effort than I ever liked to put on display. "What's going on with Morelli?" I didn't intend for it to sound so personal, but once it was asked, I couldn't take it back. [*021]

"Nothing," her voice broke at the tail end of the word and then she wouldn't look at any of us, purposefully hiding her face. Tank was watching her with an intensity I wasn't entirely comfortable with and if she hadn't been standing in front of the door and blocking his exit, I knew that Hal would have been long gone. Then Stephanie started pacing again. I wished we weren't at the office. I wanted to grab her and make her stand in one place, make her look at me.

Whatever was going on, it was clear that she thought I wasn't going to like it. I knew that terrible, infuriating possibilities started to form in all of our minds about why Stephanie, of all people, was suddenly this uncomfortable. Did he threaten her? And with what? Was this just about keys, crime, and blackmail? Was it more? The lines between personal and professional were starting to get too blurred to follow and it was frustrating as hell that I couldn't tell which I was dealing with anymore while Morelli had sounded so sure of his position when he called the other night to give me shit about Amado. I hadn't mentioned his call to Stephanie, but Morelli could have told her anything. He could have berated her in frustration for the week of nights they'd spent apart or filled her head with sweet nothings trying to convince her to come back. Were they working things out? Was any of it physical? In a loving or angry way? Would Morelli have ever dared to lay a violent hand on her? Could anyone be that stupid or hot-headed? Or was it even more than a reactionary lashing out? Was this about her association with RangeMan? Exactly how much _did_ Morelli know about that night? About other nights? Would he risk her just to get to me? I needed answers.

"Babe," I aimed for soothing, not suspicious. "If he did anything to you – "

"He didn't!" burst from her. She had an icy stare, briefly lifting her head to look us each in the face, challenging one of us to make another accusation. _And she suspects that I have ESP…_ Stephanie's posture remained tense as she continued pacing. I watched her touch her nose, the way she does when she's upset. The tip of her index finger gently slid up its length to soothe the crease in her brow and then down again and tapped the tip; one, two, three, four times. She was obviously searching for some way to explain herself. At least it was obvious to me. Stephanie pinched her nose and her eyes shut. She didn't breathe for… 27 seconds by my count. Then she let her hand fall away, lifted her lids, and held my gaze like she was trying to read my mind. "I gave him some personal news that he wasn't thrilled about. We fought."

My heart skipped a beat. _News? What kind of news could she have to give? When was this?_ The worst of the worst sprang to mind immediately. Could it be about marriage? Did Morelli propose again when he found out about the full time job offer? I knew what he thought of RangeMan. How far would he go to convince her he was right about me?

"What do you mean you fought?" Hal asked abruptly, outwardly showing interest in the conversation for the first time.

"We exchanged words in angry tones," she uncharacteristically snapped at Hal. "There weren't fisticuffs if that's what you're asking."

"Babe."

"Ranger." _Why was she being so especially stubborn about this?_

An even worse possibility struck me; was she pregnant? _No. That's impossible_, I tried to convince myself. That couldn't be the real reason that she'd quit her job at Vinnie's, could it? _Morelli's baby? _No. She would have told me that. She would have told Tank. She wouldn't be trying to get more involved at RangeMan if she was pregnant, would she? No way. And she definitely wouldn't be chasing down killers in the middle of the night. Or practically pulling me towards the bedroom at every opportunity. Then again, all this agitation lately could be hormonal; not sugar withdrawal hormonal, but pregnancy hormonal. I've seen it before. Maybe she just didn't know then, and now that she knows, that's the reason why she's working at her desk when she's told and doing everything else Tank asks. _No_, I repeated again mentally. _Jesus_. Healthier eating and exercising; plus she agreed to new security measures at her apartment and even to stay at RangeMan one night to be safe? _That photo had a goddamn baby's handprint on it!_

"Steph, please, if there is something…" Tank tried to mollify her ire in an intimate tone that set my teeth on edge.

He glared at me when I interjected, "Babe, we need to know what you talked about."

She was getting more upset. "No, you don't. It's nothing anyway."

"Obviously it's something," I said in reference to the tiny circuit she was following in place.

"It's unrelated. Drop it."

"If it comes up in a legal meeting, it's related."

"Just give it a rest, Ranger!"

I was unprepared for her sharp bite. We never usually reach this level of disagreement; usually I intimidate her and she blushes and gets flustered. Usually I'm kissing her by now. Apparently that's changed. "No."

She blinked back at me, like she couldn't believe what was happening either. I might have been imagining it, but I thought I could hear her teeth grinding. "It's personal," she shot back.

I hated this._ Since when do we argue, and in front of other people?_ "It's a legal matter that potentially affects all of us, and the company. You have to tell us what's going on with Morelli." Tank abruptly turned to scowl at me with his own disbelieving expression, but I didn't care. I had to know. A variety of unpleasant possibilities were still popping into my head. Morelli wouldn't go so far as to give evidence against her, would he? Or have her state licenses to work in enforcement revoked? That would destroy her.

My racing assumptions couldn't make it much farther down dangerous paths before she turned to me to interrupt them. My heart kicked back into gear. I'm not ashamed to admit that the light in her eye scared me. I'd seen her look at someone like that before, but never me; cold, defiant, as closed off and detached as she gets. "I told Joe I fucked you. He was upset."

_Holy! Shit!_

"Por Dios bendito. Out. Now." I didn't raise my voice, but Tank and Hal vanished like they were fleeing the plague. This issue had definitely entered the personal realm. I could see Stephanie counting to ten and waited for her to finish. "You want to back up and start that from the beginning again?" I could hear her tapping her foot and that made me nervous.

"That was about it really." She gave her head another shake and her hand returned to her face to worry her lip and cheek. For a moment, I froze, knowing how close she looked to tears. But she continued in a steady voice, "there was yelling and gesturing and accusations. I told him I slept with you. Things devolved even further after that. Then he basically threw me out of the house." She hung her head, her fire waning. "End of story," she said and shrugged in a helpless way that made me want to hold her and never let her go.

I made a move for her, but she already had a hand on the door knob and was talking as she opened it. "And now I have to go down to the station, cross my fingers and hope that I don't run into him. Then I'll be forced to relive my night with Con Stiva as I give my final statement. So, since you're the one with all the inhuman patience and self control, whatever it is that you want to say to me about all of this, could it please, please wait?"

She didn't wait for my answer before swiftly ducking out of the room, which was just as well since I didn't know what to say. Sometimes she still completely shocked the hell out of me. I just stood there like a moron and watched her leave. She disappeared faster than Ella's hand-made crullers after a night shift stakeout. Then I was left alone and confused in an empty meeting room.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*021 : American Analog Set - The Green Green Grass]<p>

** A/N: Thank you again to all of my readers and reviewers for your steady, incomparable support. Next chapter: a little more about Casper, yet another potential problem for Stephanie, and dinner at the Plum's. **


	22. Chapter 22

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterick are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

**Stephanie Redux – ****Chapter 22**

As he gathered the finished paperwork and made his exit, Eddie bowed his head strangely and mumbled that he'd be back in a few minutes. Brower waited to turn to me until the door was fully closed behind him. "That wasn't what I expected," he said with a puzzled glance back at the door.

I nodded. "The way you made it sound, I thought I was supposed to be in some kind of trouble or something?" The questions had been simple, quick, all of the basic things cops ask you when you've been assaulted or molested in some way. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard dozens of times before. There were some papers to sign. I was even getting the Buick back; no mention of the keys whatsoever. We were asked to wait for our copies of the paperwork and that was that. "What was so urgent I had to come down here right away?"

"It could have been a breakdown in communication," Brower dismissed my confusion. He flipped open the button of his elegant suit coat and sat back in the flimsy chair, making himself as comfortable as one possibly can be in a police 'interview' room. He had a gentle smile that reminded me of the men in my father's poker game, displaying the good humor of someone both settled and successful in life. "Maybe a few people at the D.A.'s office have a bad morning," he mused unconcernedly. "They're all miserable and someone snaps at me over the phone. I get the wrong idea and read too much into it. Stranger things have happened."

I laughed, more than a little relieved that we'd been stressing over nothing. "Yeah, and they usually happen to me."

The door opened then and my stomach fell. _That's what I get for relaxing and thinking things had finally taken a turn for the better._ Mickey Maglio was standing in the door way. He wasn't smiling. He never smiled around me, not unless it was to laugh about the results of the latest betting pool or whatever fluids I was covered in that day. We'd never been friends. I didn't know him well, and what he knew about me was that at one time I suspected he was a psychopath who left me threatening messages over the phone. It was the accent; I swear. No reflection on him as a person. But he was still all bent out of shape about it. Cops are like that.

"Stephanie." He was carrying a thin file and a legal pad.

"Mickey." I kept my face as blank as I could manage while still being friendly. "How you been? How are the kids?"

His frown deepened. "The oldest needs braces." He turned to Brower. "Your presence isn't required any longer, but you can stay if you'd like."

He was instantly in lawyer mode. "I'll stay."

My eyes flew to the door as Robin Russell sidled into the room and pulled up a chair next to Maglio. I caught the flash of her badge on her belt as she sat. "When did you make detective?"

"Just recently," she answered with the hint of a smile. We shared a certain understanding of each other, being women in lines of work that were overwhelmingly dominated by men.

"Congratulations," I gushed enthusiastically. If anyone deserved it, it was Robin.

Maglio cleared his throat chidingly and we fell silent. Without further preamble he flipped open his file folder, pulled out a photograph and placed it on the table directly in front of me. "Do you know this man?"

My breath caught. Brower noticed and reached out, pressing lightly on my forearm to silence me. "What is this about?" he asked.

"We have some questions for Ms. Plum related to a missing person. This man may be involved," Mickey picked up the photo and flashed it at Brower, then placed it back on the table, sliding it towards me to force me to look closer. "Do you know his name or where he's from?"

_The detective squad was trying to build a case against Casper?_ I kept quiet, looking to Brower for a cue. He reached into a pocket and produced a thin, digital recorder. Then he leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Do you have any idea what they're talking about?"

"Yeah," I told him reluctantly behind my hand. "I think I do."

He sat up, moved his hand to a supportive perch on my shoulder, and hit record. "Is she under arrest?" he formally asked for the record.

"No."

"Is she a person of interest?"

"At the moment, no. Not in this case," Mickey said, equal parts answer and evasion. My gut clenched. _What the hell does that mean?_

Brower thought for a moment and then leaned in to whisper to me again, "Do not lie to them. Tell them as little as possible. Be cooperative, but as soon as you think something incriminating might come up, even the smallest thing, call off the questioning. Whatever it is they want to know, they can't hold you here trying to figure it out."

Brower sat up and we both faced off with Maglio, who asked again, "Do you know him?"

"I have seen that man before," I answered in a dull tone.

Robin tilted her head down and shot me a look through lowered, disbelieving eyelashes that seemed to ask me 'Really? That's how you're going to answer that question?'

Mickey's eye roll wasn't as understated. "Care to elaborate."

"I think that…" I glanced at Brower and had a sudden epiphany. "There might be legal reasons I can't explain myself in detail." And there very well could have been. I'd been present for an official RangeMan case briefing on Casper, which bound me to company policy. Plus, I didn't really know anything substantial about Casper Truth's connection to RangeMan or how confidential it was meant to be.

Maglio's eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?"

"RangeMan has security contracts. As an employee, I'm subject to the confidentiality of those contracts. To be sure that I wasn't violating them I'd have to know precisely what you're asking and privately consult with our legal – "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he interrupted me, rapidly and impatiently clicking his pen. "You're going to do whatever you can not to tell us."

Robin sighed and took up the questioning. "_Where_ did you see him?"

"Around."

She was shaking her head in frustration. "Whether or not you two were at the same location at the same time is not privileged or confidential information, by any stretch of the imagination."

The look she was giving me was starting to ruffle my feathers a bit. I'd always liked Robin. When did she turn all Maglio-ish? I shrugged in what I hoped wasn't a glib or disrespectful manner, "that depends on your imagination, I guess."

Mickey took back control of the interview with a clipped, "quit bullshitting us."

Squeezing my shoulder gently, Brower nodded his head at me that I should answer. _Crap_. "Heidi Stokes' front side yard."

Maglio's pen fell silent. "When was this?"

"Few days ago."

"Which day?"

"Thursday." I admitted reluctantly.

The way he was taking notes was making me nervous. "What time?"

"I'm not sure, maybe about 11:30."

"P.M?"

"Yeah."

Maglio's noisy pen was on the move again. This time it reported the scratch of quick notes and the tap, tap, tap of now even less patient hands. "Why were you there?"

"I was there to visit Heidi. I wanted to talk to her."

"About what?"

I shrugged, trying to pull off an innocent look. "Check in, catch up, you know, nothing special."

Robin eyed me suspiciously, analyzing every blink and twitch. "Are the two of you very close?"she asked. The way she held my eye made me suspicious that there was a lot more to her question than she'd voiced aloud. And that she was expecting an answer as equally oblique.

Although it had been several years apart, Robin and I had both gone to school with Heidi. I couldn't remember if they had been friends at the time or not, but there was a fair chance that she remembered exactly how close, or more accurately how virtually unconnected, Heidi and I had been. Not to mention the possibility that she herself was presently acquainted with Heidi well enough to know that I was full of shit. But still, I was_ not_ lying.

"Me and Heidi?" I asked and Maglio rolled his eyes again. "No. I wouldn't say that we're close. It's been a while."

"But she knew you were coming? This was a planned get together?" Robin probed further, "you'd spoken to her beforehand to set it up?"

"No," I said before Brower's hand could stop me.

Maglio leveled a stern gaze at me. "So you were just going to drop in on someone you weren't that close to, at eleven thirty at night, during the work week."

I felt Brower's warning grip tighten slightly on my shoulder, but ignored it. I had a good answer for this. "My job means that I keep odd hours. I knew that Heidi does too sometimes. She lives near me. I thought I'd drive by her place and see if there was a light on. If not, no harm done. I'd call her in the morning." Brower's grip loosened in what I hoped was approval.

"And that's when you saw him?" Maglio asked for clarification.

"That's when I saw that man," I pointed at the photo, careful not to use his name, aware of the fact that they had yet to use it either and unwilling to share with them any information that wasn't absolutely necessary. "Yes. At Heidi's."

Mickey let out a frustrated breath. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happened after you saw him," he spoke slowly as though he was explaining the question to a toddler. "Do you know what he was doing there?"

I thought that '_staring down the barrel of my gun'_ or '_lying face down in the grass'_ were probably not the smartest replies. Actually, I was giving serious thought to cutting off the questioning altogether.

"What was he doing there, Stephanie? Sitting on the stoop, breaking in, just walking by… ? Did he flag you down? Did you stop to talk to him?"

"He…" _okay, okay, Steph, an honest answer that doesn't implicate you in Heidi's disappearance or make it sound like you mugged him_, "was holding his crotch."

Everyone looked at me like I'd started speaking Chinese, even Brower. "He was what?" I'd guess that representing me was shaping up differently than most of the other work he did for RangeMan.

I kept a straight face as I repeated it. "I saw that man," I pointed at the photograph, "standing on her lawn, holding his crotch." Depending on who you ask and the standards they use, it still technically wasn't a lie. The rest of the room was understandably, if inconveniently, skeptical. "I think he was drunk," I added, knowing full well that that part was a lie.

"He wasn't drunk," Maglio immediately contradicted me with venom. He was starting to piss me off. _Where was he going with all of this anyway?_

"What do you want form me?" I asked. "Go ahead and ask _him_ about it if you want answers. How am I supposed to know what he was doing?" I could just imagine Casper's sick smile when they asked him. He'd probably be insulted, but still think it was hilarious. What his answer would be wasn't as easy to guess, though I wouldn't be surprised if he came right out and admitted it. I was already wondering what he'd told the police. I was wondering about it even as I ripped the duct tape and dragged his limp form out of the Explorer that night. How would someone explain themselves if they were found that way? Especially since there wasn't really much to tell. The real story was a short one and almost too strange for me to believe and I'd been there. It was full of holes, generally nonsensical, and it didn't make either of us look good. But if I was judging by Maglio's attitude, I was definitely the bad guy in Casper's version of events and Mickey was happy to believe it.

"He exposed himself to you?" Robin looked like she was going to be sick. I couldn't blame her. Thinking about Casper without his pants made me queasy too.

"No." _Thank god!_ "His pants were on the entire time."

Robin was confused. "Was he urinating?"

"No, just holding himself."

Robin still looked confused and Maglio slouched in his chair, clearly vexed. "So your story is this; you see a man holding himself outside Heidi Stokes' house," he made some exaggerated, condescending motions with his hands, "with injured jewels for all you know, and then what, you decide to hit him?"

Despite the growing feeling that I was being interrogated instead of questioned, the accusation still caught me upside the head. "He wasn't injured," I protested. I'd never really hurt him that night, although he did get bumped and jostled a little while I was dragging him around – not that that was something I was going to admit to the police.

"You mean not until he met you; isn't that right?" he asked.

Okay. So Maglio held a grudge like his union benefits depended on it, but I could still get out of this without getting into any trouble. "Did he say that I hit him?"

Maglio rolled his eyes at me again. "I was witness to the spectacle he made that night. Someone did something to him."

"You were there?" I was unexpectedly outraged. _Had I been right about him being a creep all this time?_

"And by 'there' you mean where exactly?" he cast out a line to fish for more information.

Brower's grip tightened painfully on my shoulder again when I blurted out, "at Heidi's house."

"Of course not," Maglio bit out.

"Then what are you talking about?" I demanded, exasperated. I was truly confused by this point. What did any of this have to do with a missing person and what reason did they have to think I knew anything about it? What could they possibly suspect me of at that point? I let my own accusations come through in my tone, "why are you even asking me?"

Maglio wasn't restraining his tone anymore either. He jabbed an angry finger at me, pen and pad forgotten. "I want to know how it is that a man in vulnerable stance, who just happens across Stephanie Plum after dark, ultimately ends up being rolled out onto the street – broke, bruised, bound, gagged, and unconscious – from the backseat floor of a random taxi cab."

Brower's hand suddenly came down on the table with a firm slap. "That's enough. She isn't answering any more questions."

But my blood was already simmering. "Well how did _he_ explain it, huh?"

Maglio's temperature was rising too. "We've got a positive I.D. from the cabbie and your print on one of the bills you used to pay him."

"We're done here!" Brower's voice was firm, final. I've known a lot of lawyers, but I'd never been so grateful for one before. He was pulling me up from my seat, dragging me toward the door.

Robin's voice caught me as we were about to leave the room; I'd almsot forgotten she was there. "What do you know about Heidi, Steph?"

My step faltered slightly and I had to pull back against Brower to keep him from sweeping me away with him. When I saw the vaguely desperate light in Robin's eye, I asked. "Is she alright?"

"She's the missing person," Robin answered, finally confirming what I'd feared. "She's your _friend_, Stephanie, isn't she?" She said the word 'friend' in a strange way I didn't understand and I didn't know how to answer. "We need your help and so does Heidi," Robin gently pleaded before Maglio cut her off with his impatient, "any ideas about where she might be?"

"No, isn't that your job?" I shot back at him, but spoke more softly when I looked over his shoulder to Robin. "I'm not the one you should be asking."

Maglio came around the table, stepping closer to me. "Truth says he was kidnapped."

"Well that's rough," I snapped at Maglio, probably more snottily than was a good idea. "I always hate a kidnapping. It can really ruin your day." Brower grabbed my arm again and gave it a yank.

"The crime scene techs are going through the house as we speak, Stephanie," Mickey's shout made me grab the doorframe with my free hand in an effort to stay in the room and get the last word.

"Then you jumped the gun with this interview, didn't you?" I barely finished before Brower had me clear of the doorway and rushing down the hall.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Frank found his wife busy at work in the kitchen. She was humming to herself as she cleaned and washed onions and artichokes. He noted that she was making his favorite spiced lamb with roasted vegetables and that there were eggs, flour, sugar, and a pineapple on the table awaiting preparation. "Smells good."

"Stephanie will be here tonight," she answered seeing where he was looking. "We're having cake and I'm setting out the wine glasses."

He gave a minor, intrigued grunt and snitched several of the sugared almonds from the bag that was left out on the counter.

"Ranger will be here too," she elaborated with a tiny quirk at the corners of her mouth and then batted away his filching hand.

"Ah," was his only reply.

"Don't act disinterested Frank," she chided, but with humor in her voice, "it only makes you seem petty since I know better than to believe it. And don't think for one second I'm going to forget that I had to wait to find out from Stephanie just how much you've been keeping to yourself about him and his company."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Frakn mumbled. He leaned over her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "Better leave you to it then, you've got your work cut out for you tonight."

"And stop at Giovichinni's when you pick up the girls from school. The list is there," she waved her finger at the slip of paper she'd left on the refrigerator. Frank plucked it from its magnet as he passed and gave his wife a gentle pat on the rear in farewell. "_Mascalzone!_" [1] she hissed at his muffled laughter fading away on the other side of the kitchen door.

[1 - scoundrel]

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Through years of employment as Executive Counsel for RangeMan Enterprise Trenton, I'd heard plenty of tales about Stephanie Plum, from Rangemen, LEOs, reporters, fellow attorneys and legal professionals, but like most of the chatter about RangeMan, I'd assumed that a lot of it was exaggerated. Now, I was starting to reevaluate my perspective.

The Trenton Police Station was familiar to me and as we passed a restroom in the hall I gave her what some might describe as a more-firm-than-polite nudge through the doorway. Once we were out of earshot of anyone who might possess a badge, I was compelled to ask, "did you kidnap someone?" I saw her pull her bottom lip between her teeth and instantly changed my mind. "Wait. Scratch that; I don't want to know the answer."

She wore a pouty frown. "They can't prove anything."

It didn't escape my attention that she had yet to actually deny anything she'd been asked. "How sure are you of that?" I asked.

Stephanie bit her lip again and it made me nervous. "Not completely. But what kind of kidnapping would it be anyway to overpower some random person during the night and then whisk them away in a cab to the police station? It doesn't make sense. No one will believe it. Besides, I kidnapped someone before and nothing ever happened," she said, as if that was a credible defense to the latest accusation. A prominent crease formed between her brows and her vibrant blue eyes seemed to darken a moment. She spoke in a low murmur, like she was speaking to herself, "although I'm pretty sure that guy would have been too scared to talk afterwards and then he ended up dead, so maybe that's why no one ever found out about …"

"Miss Plum," I cut her off before she could say anymore, "I need you to stop telling me those kinds of things if the information is unsolicited. They could put me in a very legally awkward ethical position." I pulled out my card case and handed her three of my business cards. "Please, keep one of these on you at all times and if you're ever questioned, about any little thing at all, invoke your rights immediately and call me."

She glanced at the cards for a thoughtful moment. "What do you think I should do," she waved her hand at the door, "about all of this?"

Honestly, this was a new one for me. I needed more information from RangeMan and then to get some case law research started. The best advice I had to offer her at the moment was, "behave."

I already had my briefcase in hand and was straightening my jacket to leave when she quietly asked, "um, hypothetically, what are the official charges that can be filed against someone who breaks into a crime scene and steals evidence?"

_Oh for the love of jurisprudence! _"Are you serious?" She nodded and I hoped that she was truthfully asking this hypothetically… and for a friend. "There are a lot of them," I informed her, "many, many serious charges."

Her follow up question was even less encouraging. "What if there were extenuating circumstances?"

"Hypothetically, is this person a law enforcement officer with jurisdiction?"

"No," she answered reluctantly.

"Then there wouldn't be any applicable extenuating circumstances."

"So you're advice would be what exactly?"

"You should put me on speed dial."

She bit her nail with a worried expression. If this was her 'look at how innocent I am' face, we were all in trouble. "What if the place someone stole from wasn't officially a crime scene yet when the things were taken?"

I didn't even know where to begin answering that mess of inquiry. I had a much better idea about where it should end. "And please, Ms. Plum, never pose another hypothetical legal question again. To anyone. Because to some ears, it's tantamount to confession." My newly revised, official, legal opinion was that RangeMan _not_ hire this woman.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Exiting the station, I squinted into the sun and resorted to the use of a hand to shield my eyes. The dreary sky had cleared for a few glorious minutes and I took a breath to appreciate the way the light glittered off Brower's car. Ranger was never in short supply of sigh-inducingly beautiful vehicles, but there was something about a Continental GT that I felt necessitated an extra second of perusal, you know, out of respect. It was that moment of distraction that made my next moment of clarity so spectacular that I almost didn't believe it. _I was aware of my surroundings!_

I'd scanned the parking lot, the street, both behind and all around. I'd been preoccupied with the luxury and tradition of fine Mulliner craftsmanship and the lingering uneasiness over my threatening legal woes, yet I was aware of all the other less than stellar cars surrounding us. That's how I managed to spot the man at the far end of the parking lot, unobtrusively watching me from behind the wheel of an old, well-beaten, conversion van.

Here's the rub; he wasn't setting off my alarm bells. He was just watching. It didn't grab my attention because he was giving me creepy vibes, because honestly, he wasn't. My chest swelled with a hesitant thrill that the fact I had even noticed him might be the result of some form of skill developing on my part rather than a recently intensified capacity for paranoia. I smiled to myself with a drop of pride, and realized too late that it now looked like I was staring back at him and grinning like an imbecile. Wow, I wondered if that weirded him out as much as it did me? _Ugh. Now I was the one giving off creepy vibes._

Then, I was abruptly startled back into focus by the exquisite purr of a Bentley as Brower pulled out and off down the street. _So much for awareness_. I guess I still needed to work on that, like not letting my awareness of my awareness make me forget about being aware. _Geez_. I rolled my eyes at myself as I made my own exit from the lot. My head was a mess and I definitely needed to find some time to thoroughly sweep out the corners.

I called my parents' house to give my father the good news about the Buick. From the sounds in the background and the speed with which he agreed to be picked up immediately, I was certain that now more than ever he needed a break from the Women of Mazur.

He whistled and rocked back on his heels when I pulled up in Ranger's Turbo. "Very classy, SweetPea," he said as he climbed in.

"Isn't it? I don't know why he still lets me near his cars."

My father was quietly nodding beside me, signaling that he had thoughts on the subject, but wasn't going to share them. "How's the new job?" He didn't try to be discrete as he eyed the gun in my holster.

"It can be frustrating," I confided, "but I like it so far. At least I'm confident I won't get fired from this one immediately."

"You like the work?" I didn't much care for the note of disbelief I detected in his question.

"For the most part."

"Hmm," he hemmed askance.

"Everything we do is über clandestine," I elaborated, "and very little of it is what you'd call pleasant. There's some ugliness. Plus, it's a lot of paperwork and long hours and advanced technology that I don't know how to use yet. And I'm expected to take orders, lots of them."

Dad gave a sedate chuckle. He knew firsthand how difficult it could be trying to order me to do anything. "They're brave men."

Once my dad was rumbling off in Big Blue, my mind had its first opportunity to work its way back far enough through the day to remember my ill-conceived, post-meeting declaration. And the look on Ranger's face when I made it. In place of his schooled, neutral mask was a moment of slack nothing that tore at me to recall. Then his frustration with our argument seemed to triple in magnitude on its return. There have been plenty of instances when Ranger had been exasperated enough to almost grab me and shake me, but somehow his distress had been much more raw this time. It was like I'd ripped open a wound neither of us had realized existed in the first place. Then I ran away like a little girl who'd just kicked her crush in the shin.

And for the moment I needed to keep running. I needed to _not_ think about what Ranger might be thinking – whether he was imagining the scene when it'd happened, replaying scenarios in which I air any number of our private concerns to any number of people. I had shared something that was a delicately avoided subject, even between me and Ranger, with, of all people, Joe. Then I blurted it out for Ranger and bystanders and left him hanging with only partial disclosure. I was still shut off to the unsettling reality of what I'd done. I took a few deep breaths and blasted some OT3P on the stereo, driving aimlessly for twenty minutes before finally deciding on a sufficiently distracting destination.

A bell jingled as I pushed open the heavy door at Cassano's Pizzeria. The air inside was thick and heavy with the scent of garlic and dough baking on heated stone. Two card tables with plastic tablecloths and paper place mats were set up, but no one was there to eat at them. Cassano's was a small, cramped little place, the type of pizza joint where you ordered your food to go; nobody ever ate in. A bored looking man with a crooked hair net and tomato stained smock was behind the counter hunched over the sports page. "Welcome to Cassano's," he droned without looking up.

I gave him the BEA speech and my card. "Have you made any deliveries to 1209 Alcott recently?"

He frowned like someone used to dealing with loonies and unhappy to be confronted with yet another, "I can't tell you that."

"Pizza delivery boy, client confidentiality? I don't think so. Come on pal, help me out."

"Buy something or get outta here."

"A quart of wedding soup." I dropped forty dollars on the counter.

His eyes flicked between me and the money before he called out my order to the kitchen. Then he retrieved a worn, grease-stained binder from under the counter and ran a finger down the list of orders. "Yeah. We delivered there."

"When?" I asked. He frowned at me a little more and I put another twenty on the counter and prompted, "the last six orders."

"Looks like..." he flipped through several pages, "every coupl'a days for the last three weeks." After another scan of the page he added, "extra large supreme and a salad."

I showed him the photo of Casper that I still had on my phone. "Do you make the deliveries? Was this the guy?"

He inspected the picture. "Yeah. I remember him. Always called last thing before closing and gave big tips."

I wanted to do my happy dance, but I held off. "Was there anyone else there with him? Did you hear or see anything unusual?"

"I never saw anybody else, but the second or third time I went out there I remember he looked like hell. He was all scratched up and smelled like gin. Then the last time I went," he glanced back at a note jotted down next to the address, "no delivery; no one answered the door."

"Was that this past week?" I tried to read the scribbled date upside down.

"Yeah."

It was the night that I'd been there. It seemed that I'd intervened sometime between the pizza order and the pizza delivery. I was so excited it made me dizzy. "Do you have a call back number for those orders?"

I was ready to burst as he jotted the digits on the back of my receipt. It wasn't a local number. _Alright, just calm yourself, Steph_. "If you remember anything else or ever deliver to him again, anywhere, will you give me a call?" I tossed another twenty on the counter.

He glanced at my card again and tucked it in his back pocket. "Enjoy your soup," was his only answer as he handed me the bag with my order.

That answer was good enough for me. I'd just hit the jackpot. "Thanks."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

From his customary vantage point, through the front room's lace curtain, Frank watched out of the corner of his eye as a sleek, black car glided to the curb behind the LeSabre and parked. He decided to give his daughter a minute of peace before sounding the alarm, but as the dark car's silent vigil dragged on for several minutes his eyes narrowed. "Stephanie," he called out a low grunt, perhaps a smidge louder than usual. His alerted wife and mother-in-law materialized at their posts behind the screen door, patting straight apron creases and adjusting bra stuffing, respectively. The only thing that kept them from bickering the entire afternoon was anticipation of dinner and now they were lying in wait on the balls of their feet.

"Now, Mother," 'Elen voiced her plea in a dispassionate, business-like fashion, "I'm respectfully requesting you refrain from lewd language, inappropriate insinuations, and vulgarity in front of our visitor on just this _one_ particular occasion."

"Save your tongue twisters for when he can hear you. He might think a talented tongue runs in the family." Edna waggled her eyebrows and gave a wheezy, wolf whistle as their wait continued. "I'd give a week's worth of my good glitter panties to know what's going on in that car."

Frank let out a harassed grunt and turned up the volume on the television. He checked his watch; they'd been out there for six minutes. Brow furrowed by a new set of worries, he noticed the flash of the second approaching car before his wife did. He watched the Turbo Stephanie had been driving earlier in the day pull into the driveway and his daughter emerge with her eyes glued to the first arrival. Realizing that his daughter hadn't been in the first car, he hoped the presence of a second wasn't the result of another new protection detail.

Spanning the entirety of the subtlety spectrum, the family watched the scene unfolding in front of the house. Ranger surfaced from the other car with enough suave elegance to star in the next Bond film. He met Stephanie out on the sidewalk, halfway to the door, commandeering her Cassano's bag with his standard greeting, "Babe."

He'd changed his clothes since Stephanie had seen him last and she took a second to appreciate the drape of his slacks while she adjusted her thoughts to the fact he'd gone to the trouble and shown up for dinner with her parents. "I said you didn't have to come," she said and then immediately regretted it when the line of his lips tightened. Quickly, she assuaged, "especially if you were going to wear something prettier than I was." She reached out and gave a short tug on the sleeve of his undoubtedly new, expensive, far-too-stylish-for-just-anyone-to-wear-casually-on-an-average-day leather coat.

His eyes flicked down to the uniform she was still sporting. It was strange that she was in his normal ensemble while he'd changed out of all tactical attire. He looked like he wanted to smile. "Testing your mother's good mood?"

"What?"

"You didn't need to wear that. Tank changed your shift's assignment. You start two hours later." The offhand mention of Tank and work flustered her unexpectedly. Stephanie colored slightly as her agitation and embarrassment from the meeting earlier that afternoon resurfaced. Her awkward blush couldn't have gone unnoticed by a random passerby let alone a man who'd memorized every inch of her face and body. He could guess what was making her uncomfortable; it was still at the front of his mind too. So was the certainty that this was the worst time and place to address it. "We have spectators," he gently warned.

"It's my every day," she shrugged without paying them any mind other than to be grateful for the small modicum of protection they afforded. She knew Ranger wasn't about to venture into conversations about present complications over past sexual encounters while any of the more wrinkly portions of the Plum family tree were in the vicinity. But that relief wasn't enough to overcome the twist in her chest admonishing her for the public forum of her earlier revelation. It was going to be difficult looking at him all through dinner and knowing that any reservations he had about her discretion were proven well-founded. _And speaking of difficult dinners…_ "I need to ask you a favor."

"Now?" He was surprised, considering he'd reminded her that they were being watched literally seconds earlier.

Stephanie's nervous nod wasn't encouraging, "before we go in." She stepped closer, testing his resolve not to paw her in public, and lowered her voice. "Could you please eat a lot at dinner," she asked hesitantly, "maybe even have seconds," she added before rushing through the rest of her request, "and no matter how much salt or fat or monosorbate gluten acid or whatever is in it, compliment my mom and mention how much better you think the food is than Ella's?"

Ranger had to bite the inside of his cheek. She did the most peculiar things to him, like spout ridiculously cute monologues from left field that made him wild with the urge to ravage her on her parents' lawn.

When he didn't move or answer, she explained with a declining mumble, "my mother might have gotten the impression somewhere that you don't like her food."

His eyes widened in that slight way that only a handful of people ever notice and correctly interpret as his version of '_what?_' "And where exactly was that?" he asked in a hesitant way, sounding like he didn't actually want to hear the answer.

Stephanie flipped her palms up for a second and puffed her cheeks out with a heavy breath. "I don't know. She just gets these ideas in her head…" She trailed off lamely and edged the tiniest fraction closer to him, as if perhaps closing the gap between them could help facilitate a projected, unspoken apology.

He gave his head a minute shake and tucked a curl behind her ear. She could see the amusement in his eyes as he dismissed her worry, "one of life's little mysteries." Their eyes held and they felt time stutter. It was one of those moments when if he'd actually been Batman, Ranger would have liked to swing his cape up and around them to get a few seconds of privacy. But since he'd left his cape at home…

"Even lovin' from that hot package isn't going to keep that soup from getting cold out there!" Edna gave the screen door a noisy, impatient bang over her daughter's shocked, 'mother' and hollered, "bring the show inside; it's getting dark."

When they finally made it to the door, 'Elen reached out to capture Stephanie's hands and stepped back, drawing her into the house several steps quicker than she'd intended. The hug was awkward and brief, but enthusiastic. Everyone was talking at once, even Mary Alice and Angie were there to greet them, but Grandma Mazur still managed to be the loudest. "Don't let these girls corner you with photos. They aren't worth seeing anyway. Albert is in every single one."

"Girls," Frank called shortly from his chair, "let them breathe." He beckoned his granddaughters with a slight wave of the hand that was holding the remote.

"Yes, Sir," they answered and turned tail to make for the sofa, where Angie dove back into an issue of VQR and Mary Alice absently sat next to her, banging her heels against the foot of the sofa and occasionally whinnying softly.

There were some generally polite greetings by all of the adults, and a few more crass ones from Edna, who tried but failed in her attempts at package inspection.

"Oh, wedding soup," Mrs. Plum effused, her own skills of distraction on display, "how thoughtful. Dinner will only be a few more minutes." 'Elen took the soup offered from Ranger and shooed Grandma Mazur ahead of her as they returned to the kitchen. "I'll take this and you go catch up with your father."

Stephanie and Ranger stepped into the front room to greet Frank. He gave them a nod and another small grumble that Stephanie understood as, 'no need for that.'

An unnatural silence filled the room. Mary Alice looked back and forth between the two new guests, waiting for one to speak, but her patience typically ran shorter than most. "Grandma says we should thank you for getting mom a wedding." She waved a stack of computer printout photos.

Stephanie smiled at her niece, hoping to quash the idea right away. "Your mom married Albert because they love each other. It had nothing to do with me."

Mary Alice argued back. "She says it did."

Angie, managing a good facsimile of her grandfather, replied sedately without looking up from her reading. "They mean that you had a positive influence on her decision making process."

Unsure what to make of that and never the greatest at interacting with children, Stephanie ventured, "well, at least positive is better than negative right?" Angie's response was a frown and mild disappointment. Stephanie wondered if she should be more offended for herself or for Mary Alice that one of her nieces felt she had to translate for the other when they spoke to her.

But Mary Alice was obviously unphased by any of it. "Yeah, we heard mom talking after you were crying and threw up in the sandbox. She said she didn't want to wait anymore because she doesn't want to be like you." The pause that followed her declaration was the stunned silence that dominates for several seconds after an unexpected power outage, acutely disorienting and all encompassing. A cold chill ran down Stephanie's spine and then dissipated where Ranger's hand came to settle comfortingly on the small of her back.

Most likely due to a built up tolerance to her sister's inappropriateness, Angie was the first to respond. "Shut up," she snapped, "you aren't supposed to repeat that stuff. It's not nice."

"Angela." Frank voice was firm and Ranger even felt Stephanie jump slightly at it. Angie didn't say anything as she stood up, dug around in her pocket, and crossed the room. She added a quarter to the other change already collected in a little, old, glass ashtray that sat on the end table beside Frank's chair and then returned to her reading again.

"Which stuff am I not allowed to talk about," Mary Alice asked, "the part about marrying Detective Joe or the part about having a baby with him?"

"Don't say any of it," Angie hissed in a softer tone that didn't include any of the words her grandfather had banned in the house. "Your big mouth always gives everything away. It's rude and we weren't supposed to hear the part about Aunt Stephanie's men." Overall, Angie's input wasn't exactly helpful by that point, as she too seemed to have inherited the Plum gift for the inappropriate.

Frank's attention hadn't caught when Manoso put his hand on his daughter's back, but it was caught now and he saw the hand fall away and how the loss changed Stephanie's posture. Noting the couple's reaction, he grunted only enough to get his daughter's attention. "They're starting up again," he said with a tip of his head toward the back of the house. Everyone present knew what it sounded like when Mrs. Mazur and Mrs. Plum disagreed, and that it was far too quiet for that to be the case, but no one pointed out the fact.

Stephanie glanced in the direction of the kitchen and shot her father a grateful look, "I'll check on it."

At the loss of Stephanie, the atmosphere turned even more awkward. When a NASCAR commercial flashed across the television, Mary Alice spoke again. "Did you know that horses have their own races? It's just like with cars only it's with people on horses that are called jockeys."

If Ranger was surprised at being addressed, he didn't show it. "Yes, I've heard that. Some of the races are very famous."

She chewed a thin section of her hair that she had wrapped around her finger and looked up at him from wide, nervous, blue eyes. "I'm sorry I said that stuff I wasn't 'sposed to say."

"Don't worry about it," he dismissed the perceived offense. When he saw that she clearly was worried he encouraged, "it's alright. You know, your Aunt Stephanie does the same thing. So I'm used to it." Ranger bowed his head as if to tell her something in confidence, but he spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Don't tell her I told you this, but every now and then she blurts out something she really means to keep to herself. She always apologizes and then tries even harder not to do it again."

Overhearing the enitre exchange, Frank smiled despite himself. He'd found that to be a surprisingly astute response for someone conversing with Mary Alice.

"Yeah, me too," Mary Alice nodded with enthusiasm. "Have you ever been to Colorado?"

Ranger was thrown for a second by the apparent subject change and the sudden flash of memories from far distant training assignments. "Yeah. I was there for a while."

"Did you have a horse when you were there? The Ranger Horse is from Colorado."

Ranger smiled fully this time. "No, I've never – " he caught himself for a second, amended his answer slightly, and then continued, "I don't own a horse. I wasn't around horses much when I was there."

"Did you ever ride a horse?"

"When I was your age."

"The Lone Ranger rode a horse. He caught bad guys like you do, but he wore a big hat. Do you ever wear big hats?"

"Not that I recall," he told her with a soft chuckle.

"You have hair more like his friend Tonto, but he rode a horse too so it's cool. My mom says she's gonna take us to ride horses when she comes home from her wedding. There's a really pretty horse at Halbrook Farm that my friend Max can't ride 'cause she's not tall enough yet. It's a Appaloosa Leopard named 'Papa's Stompin' Ground' and when I had my doctor check up last time I was tall enough. So I'm gonna ask my mom if I can ride 'Papa's Stompin' Ground' even though Albert is gonna come too and he says that farms always have feathers and that feathers give him fever."

Ranger marveled at the wonder of genetics, that this miniature version of Stephanie could have been born and raised with thousands of miles between the two of them. "Have _you_ ridden horseback before?" he asked, curious what she'd say next.

"No, but before I got to feed apple to a horse that was at the club where my daddy played gulf."

"I thought horses ate carrots."

"They like both. They eat sugar and grass and oatmeal too. And they take pills that are too big for people." She leaned in as he had done, adding shifty eyes and a raised hand of privacy for her whisper that wasn't really a whisper. "Sometimes the horse medicine has to go up into their butts."

That one finally left him speechless. It was only a matter of time at the Plum house, really, until a guest is rendered temporarily mute. So far, Ranger's score was a better than average time, but in the end he wasn't spared.

"I read it in a book," she informed him proudly.

Angie finally perked up to their subject at that point and wanted to be heard. "What did you read in a book?"

"Nothing," came her little sister's swift denial.

"That's because you don't read books," Angie taunted, a hint of jealousy and pique coming through.

Mary Alice was offended by every drop of it. "I do if they're about horses," she insisted in her defense.

"Almost all of them are coloring books."

"My workbooks have words in them!"

"Not about horse butts!"

As the volume rose, two gruff, muted words put an abrupt end to their bickering. "Dotta. [2] Cavallina." [3] The girls looked over at their grandfather with sheepish faces. "You'll wake, Meraviglia," [4] he said, gently without moving more than his eyes in their direction.

They both glanced up in the direction of the room where their baby sister slept and drone-whispered in a synchronized apology, "Scusi, Capo." [5]

"Have you washed your hands for supper?" he asked. Both girls silently rose and headed for the washroom. A small tussle of elbows erupted at the bottom of the narrow stairway, but was halted by another quiet warning, "if I have to ask again," from Frank. Two sets of hurried tip-toes could be heard scampering up the stairs and making their way down the hall upstairs.

Stephanie stepped back into the room, her eyes uncertainly darting between the two men. "I think they're ready for you, Dad."

Frank headed for the dining room and his normal pre-diner wait at the head of the table. Everyone else trickled in and settled around the room. Mary Alice and Angie sat on either side of their grandmother. Edna was beside Angie, followed by Stephanie, with Ranger across from her and next to Mary Alice.

As the plates were brought in and the food passed, everyone made the normal polite exclamations of thanks and anticipation. 'Elen gave a toast to her 'two wonderful daughters' with well wishes for their futures, a big smile, and a bigger glass of wine. Stephanie caught Ranger's eye across the table. She managed to fight off the laughter as he accepted a large, piece of red meat and a heaping spoonful of buttered vegetables. He didn't quite smile back but he held her gaze and she saw the slight crinkling at the corners that told her he'd be grinning if they were alone. Frank watched their interaction, his practiced guise undetected by his subjects.

Everyone tucked into their meals. Several moments passed quietly but for the regular appreciative noises and the clink and squeak of cutlery on china. Mary Alice's impatience and energy quickly claimed her the spotlight yet again even before Edna could speak up. "Is mom really married to Albert?" she asked the table in general, but aimed the question mostly at her Grandma Plum.

'Elen looked down at her surprised. "Of course she is, Sweetie. You saw the pictures."

"But it wasn't in a church."

"It was in a chapel," Angie corrected, daintily dabbing the corner of her mouth.

Mary Alice nodded, absorbing the new information, "is a chapel God's house too?"

Edna laughed, "a wedding chapel is like God's clubhouse, especially in Vegas, but it still counts."

Mary Alice's eyebrows rose in realization. "So that's why Albert could go to the wedding this time?"

"What do mean?" several of them asked at once.

Mary Alice looked around the table like she couldn't figure out what it was that everyone else wasn't understanding. "They cancelled it before because Albert couldn't go in the church before, but now it was okay because it was in a chapel, right?"

Stephanie was confused, "why do you think Albert can't go to church?"

"You knooow…" she explained in a hushed voice with wide implicating eyes, "he was sick."

"The church doesn't keep out the sick, Mary Alice," 'Elen protested. "They welcome the sick, poor, and needy and they help them. They pray for them."

"I know, but Albert had upset stomach sickness and he had to be really careful when we went to church."

This time 'Elen questioned with an earnest concern, "why?"

"Because it's a sin and you go to hell if you fart in church and Albert was farting _a lot_."

'Elen gasped and chided, "we don't use that kind of language at the dinner table, young lady."

"Who told you that about Albert?" Stephanie asked, now infinitely more confused about what the girls might have overheard between herself and Val.

"Brian said so."

"Well, he's wrong, Sweetheart," her grandmother reassured her. "That isn't a sin. God doesn't condemn people for that."

"But if it's a bad word, then doing it is even worse, right?" She wore an adorable, quizzical expression on her face.

"Psh, everybody farts," Edna added her two cents with a dismissive wave of her fork that flicked gravy on the tablecloth, "I've even let a few fly since we all sat down. It's natural."

"Really?" Mary Alice asked of no one in particular, looking around the table. But no one else was as eager to make their own confession. Her eyes finally settled on her new, quiet friend. "Did you ever fart in church, Mr. Ranger?"

Ranger had to wait for all the choked coughing around the table to cease before he could give his measured, honest answer which shot a stunned Stephanie straight to cloud nine, "never on purpose."

"I'm not going to overlook that you owe three times to the cuss jar after dinner," Angie clipped a reproof at her little sister. Her remark again went ignored.

Mary Alice was becoming rather taken with Ranger. She tilted her head to the side, squinting. "But, you are catholic?"

Stephanie could swear she actually saw her mother's ears prick up from the other end of the table.

"Yes."

"Are you a ack-ee-lite?" she asked almost like a challenge.

He smiled at her mangled pronunciation and answered, "no." Stephanie struggled not to giggle at the mental image of Ranger in vestments. ¡_Vaya Con Dios_!

"I want to help hold the plates at Mass," Mary Alice announced, "but Brian says girls aren't allowed. But I think me and Max can 'cause we're really horse spirits born in girl bodies."

"If you were really a horse, you'd have hooves for hands and you'd drop the candles and start the church on fire or spill parts of Christ's body all over the floor," Angie explained with practiced, yet childish, superiority.

Grandma Mazur adjusted her dentures thoughtfully. "You'd go to hell for that."

"Mother!" 'Elen whispered harshly and reached out to cup her hands over Mary Alice's ears. "You know how she worries about H E double L." Her gentle touch ran over Mary Alice's head to smooth her hair as she removed her hands from her ears. "Did you ask Father Anthony about this yet?" 'Elen asked.

"No," she admitted.

"Well, it sounds to me like you should talk to Father Anthony and that you shouldn't believe everything Brian tells you," Frank declared and on that note he closed out the discussion with finality.

The rest of the meal's conversation was more tame than usual, the excitement never extending farther than very bawdy comments from Edna and curious probing from 'Elen. She rather impressively managed to learn that Ranger lived in a one bedroom penthouse apartment at his building, preferred pie to cake, specifically Ella's key lime, and even drew from him the admission that although most people knew him as Ranger these days, his long-time, close friends called him Ric and his family had dubbed him Carlos from infancy. Stephanie listened to the easy chatter between her mother and Ranger with an astonishment that both warmed and terrified her. Should she be disappointed that it was so easy for him to answer her mother's questions when she asked, or should she love him for the thought that it wasn't easy for him, but that he was doing it any way, for her?

Half of what she heard was as new to her as it was to everyone else at the table and her father noticed its effect on Stephanie. He kept an eye on her reactions and watched her distraction deepen as the meal progressed, until 'Elen made a concerted effort to snag her attention. "Stephanie, are you listening?"

"Yeah, Ma."

"You know what I told you last month about getting your check up?" 'Elen asked her daughter.

It took concerted effort for Stephanie not to groan and roll her eyes. While she'd been stopping by to pick up some leftovers, her mother had spent ten minutes repeatedly asking about when she was scheduled for a mammogram and the next fifty minutes shoving a phonebook across the table, closer and closer to her, refusing to finish baking until she heard Stephanie make the appointment with her own ears. "Yes, I remember," she assured her mother.

"Well didn't Eddie tell you? Shirley found a lump."

"Ohmigod, Mom," Stephanie exclaimed. _Talk about a Hungarian-mothering blitz attack_. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It was just a fibrous, fatty deposit, but you should still be checking."

"Ma," she sighed in relief, embarrassment, and frustration at the new heights of guilt and fear her mother had reached with that one. "I promise, I always check my breasts."

"That's our cue, Manoso." Mr. Plum abruptly stood from the table and left the room, obediently followed by a hesitantly curious Ranger.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**

[2 - scholar/learned ] [3 - filly/foal ] [4 - amazement/wonder ] [5 - sorry, boss/chief ]

* Next Chapter: more with the Plums, a special 'Babe' moment, RangeMan commentary, and Tank reveals a secret *

** A/N: Thank you again to all of my reviewers! You're feedback is so wonderful and appreciated! For this and future chapters, as more of the plot/mystery is revealed, I'd like to ask that you please avoid including any specific information in your reviews that may be spoilers to other readers. Thank you.**

*** A/N, p.s. I hope you enjoyed the obligatory fart joke; there won't be another. ***


	23. Chapter 23

Author – PinPin [mciupin13 at yahoo dot com]  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (plenty of originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterick are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.  
>***SPOILER ALERT*** Spoilers for <span>all<span> books, especially EoT.

** A/N: Thank you to all of my reviewers who keep me motivated and readers who've added me or this story to their favorites and alert lists. **

**Stephanie Redux – ****Chapter 23**

The Plum family's garage wouldn't appear exceptional to anyone who had never stood in it with Frank Plum. He wasn't anything special himself, necessarily, but he was what he was and never pretended to be anything more… or anything less. He was straight-backed and assertive, but never domineering; he didn't need to be. An honest man of mean beginnings, he worked hard all of his life, did his own father proud, and knew that every tear and drop of sweat had earned him everything he now had. He owned outright a home that would stand for years to come and helped a good woman create a family to fill it with. In his modest, unspoken opinion, what he had was gold.

Of course, he had his faults like everybody else. His rules were fair, but they were as insurmountable as the Himalayas, no exceptions ever. Minimally communicative, old-fashioned, and unsociable, he wasn't an easy man to get to know. He left wet towels on the bathroom floor and wore socks to bed. Plus, he never edited his shit-list, once you were on it, you might as well legally change your name, move to another state, and hope he doesn't get word of it.

But he loved his girls. He'd handed down his most useful traits to his daughters; curiosity, resourcefulness, and a good sense of direction. Of course he passed on a few of his more troublesome qualities as well; bullheaded attachment to the familiar and an occasionally unwieldy sense of duty. On their sixteenth birthdays each was personally invited out to the garage for the first time, for a father daughter heart to heart, during which he allowed them their first taste of whiskey while he described in vivid detail the ways he would smite any man who so much as misplaced a hair on their heads and declaring in no uncertain terms that for as long as they breathed they could call on him for anything, at anytime. And if at all possible, he would do the same for his Dotta, Cavallina, and Meraviglia when the time came.

Frank Plum loved all of his girls.

"There's only a little dusty stool out here," he said as he entered the side door of the garage and pulled the chains on three hanging bulbs across the length of the garage's open space alongside the Buick, "but you don't strike me as a man who'd mind standing."

"No, sir." Ranger hadn't expected this. He felt his nerves jangle the tiniest bit as he stepped through the doorway and took in his surroundings. Just a typical garage; tools hanging on peg board, a workbench with dents and nicks across the top, a sheet-covered lawnmower, a snow shovel at the ready. There wasn't anything astounding. But in the back, there was a small, well-tooled wooden cabinet, about the size of a double milk crate. Frank opened it and pulled out a cigar box, offering one to Ranger. _Now_, Ranger was nervous. He looked down at the familiar Padilla bands and was surprised at his own reaction. His mind froze. It felt like a lifetime since he'd smelled the unmistakable smoke of his uncle's Don Pepíns, but it couldn't have been more than a year since he'd last looked at the box of Miami 8 & 11 Salomons that he'd left to him. The sudden flashback was disorienting. He snapped back to the present with a twinge of regret. "Thank you, Sir, that's a fine cigar, but I don't smoke."

Frank gave a small, and it seemed to Ranger, an unintelligible grunt and selected a cigar for himself. That was the second time Manoso had called him 'sir' in as many minutes. When his Stephanie had first brought this _particular_ serviceman to dinner, Frank had been merely curious, and then he'd been slightly concerned when that _particular_ meal hadn't been enough to scare him away. So when the name 'Ranger' eventually became commonplace in their home, he did some of his own investigating. Frank had left the Army as soon as he possibly could – he had a beautiful woman waiting for him after all – but some of his oldest friends were still wearing insignia around the capitol. According to what he had learned from them, Manoso outranked him several times over. "You drink, don't you?" he asked as he pulled out a bottle of 18 Auchentoshan and poured two glasses.

Taking the offered drink, Ranger got the feeling that refusing wasn't an option this time. He nodded his thanks and sipped it along with Mr. Plum, grateful for the familiar warmth just then. As Mr. Plum went about lighting his cigar, the silence soothed Ranger's nerves more than the drink did, as Mr. Plum went about lighting his cigar. He gave it several puffs, paying little attention to his guest, completely at ease on his own territory. Something almost imperceptible relaxed in the posture of the man across from him as he waited. Others wouldn't have noticed it, but Frank did and he knew that if he was right about him, that relaxed posture wasn't likely to last very long once he started talking.

Frank stood opposite Ranger and looked him in the eye. Forgoing any further niceties, but in a casual tone, he began, "I was told by a friend of mine earlier this week that he'd heard from Stephanie." He paused to let the subject register with his audience and watch the reaction.

Ranger's jaw tightened and his Adam's apple bobbed. It was an inauspicious beginning.

"She called in late one night to get a cab for a man. He had a sign on him that said his name was Casper Truth. She gave a large tip for what he said were 'unusual circumstances'."

This was the first time in years Ranger honestly worried that he wasn't going to be able to maintain his blank-faced composure when confronted. Because from the look on Frank Plum's face, he thought that a confrontation is what this may very well turn out to be.

"I understand that she's working for you. Know that if my baby girl is in any trouble, I expect to be informed. Joseph Morelli has been a lot of things; but one of them was always to be very.." he paused like he had to chew on the word before saying it, "_cognizant_," then he cleared his throat cleaning the taste away before continuing, "both of the importance that I stay informed and how unlikely it is that Stephanie will be the one to see to that."

_What?_ Ranger's mind raced. What could he mean by that? Where was this going?_ Was he was asking him to inform on Stephanie?_ "Yes, Sir. I'll keep that in mind," he hedged, uncertain.

But Frank made no reply. He sipped his drink and puffed his cigar. The lengthy pause became longer and Ranger started to get the feeling that there was something more he was supposed to say. "I would do anything to protect her if she ever needs it. So will my men. I'd never let anyone hurt her."

Frank let out a grunt that almost sounded amused.

"But I won't betray her trust," Ranger added quietly holding Frank's stare.

An even louder grunt from Frank followed that and one last big swallow finished his drink. Ranger didn't even realize he was being questioned, but he'd just given the right answer. Frank broke eye contact and his attention landed on the Buick. He set his empty glass down and stepped forward, gesturing at the car. "Sandor bought this beauty cherry. Took good care of it." Ranger watched him meander halfway around the car giving it a casual inspection. He glanced over at Ranger as he added, "had more years with this car than he had with his wife." Frank shook his head and sighed, "the poor bastard."

Ranger didn't know how to respond. Frank Plum was difficult to read and he didn't want to say the wrong thing. There seemed to be a helluva lot more to this simple offer of a drink than he'd appreciated at first. "It's a good car," he offered. "Stephanie complains but she secretly likes it."

"My grandkids are going to drive it," Frank rumbled. He took a minute to finish his circuit around the car and dragged a finger along the hood as he passed. "There aren't many around like this anymore. Even my little SweetPea can't scratch it."

Ranger raised his glass for another sip in order to hide his smile. He knew a lot about Stephanie, but he'd never heard that nickname before and was grateful that Mr. Plum had volunteered that glimpse into his Babe. Then he actually flinched as Frank suddenly snatched up a hammer from the work bench and struck out with it, connecting with the front passenger side panel. Other than the sharp clang of the metal, there was no evidence that he'd ever touched it. "When you have something dependable," he said, "something you've had around for a while and has never disappointed you, it's easy to start thinking it's indestructible."

Frank wasn't done though. He surveyed the car again and gave the hammer a quick one handed toss to hold it prong side out, "but it's the interior that's the trickiest part of these gems." He struck out again through the open window, making two tiny scuffs along a seam of the worn vinyl interior. "It's the easiest to mark," he dropped the hammer on a shelf with a solid thud and a miniature cloud of dust. At the sound, Ranger let out the small breath he'd been holding. In a grave tone Frank finished, "and it's the hardest to repair." He poured himself another finger of whisky and took his time sipping it, letting silence settle over them. Turning to face Ranger full-on once again, he looked even more determined when he spoke. "Since I don't really believe you'd lie to my face, I have to assume you're a fool."

"Sir?" Ranger's spine went rigid and a deep crease appeared on his brow, unprepared for the criticism.

"If you care about my daughter, you won't kid yourself. You can't protect Stephanie."

"Mr. Plum – " he began to argue, irked at the challenge to his abilities and the apparent dismissal of all he'd ever done up to that point to keep Stephanie safe. He was prepared to give everything he had, his life included, to protect her.

"I've spent more than half my life trying to protect my girls," Frank cut off the rebuttal. "I'll spend the rest of my life trying, despite the fact that I know it's impossible. I learned a long time ago that I can't keep Life from knocking them down occasionally. All I can really do is see to it they're as ready as possible when it happens and help them be the sort of women who get back up again." Frank downed the last of his drink and set his glass back on the dusty shelf beside the hammer. He looked at Ranger with the same serious expression he'd worn since they left the house. "But also know that even if I can't stop it from happening, I can make damn sure that anything, or anyone, that hurts them will deeply, deeply regret it. Remember," he said as he snuffed out the nub of his cigar, "she was my babe first." Then he walked out without a glance back.

Ranger stepped forward to watch his progress as Frank headed away across the lawn, letting a hot sliver of the glow and noise of the kitchen's commotion slip out past him into the chilly night for a moment before the backdoor banged closed, leaving Ranger standing, unfinished drink in hand, at the open door of the garage, stunned by the resolute words that had sounded mysteriously like both a threat and – somehow – approval.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"What are you so happy about?" Vince asked as a cheerful Brett joined him at the table with more éclat than he was ready to tolerate. The lounge was quiet, with only Colt and Vince in attendance, both antisocially immersed in leisure reading.

Brett responded to Vince's gripes with good humor. "I just heard about the rescue during Plum's shift last night."

Vince rolled his eyes, "and you're just tickled are you?" He wasn't nearly as gaga over news about Stephanie as some of the other men were. He had his first assignment with her later that night and would be perfectly happy if the time passed very unremarkably.

Brett shrugged, "it's good news."

Colt barked a caustic laugh and threw down his _Economist_ as he declared, "yeah, it's amazing. They were sent to monitor and manage a property and then they did. I think next Saturday will be the best day to throw the party."

"Oh that will be perfect," Vince added in an absentminded monotone from behind the well-beaten cover of his favorite edition of _Billy Budd_, "it'll give me time to get some new gold star stickers. I ran out last week."

"Ugh, with the two of you, it's grouch central in here," Brett complained, getting caught in their negativity.

Vince frowned at him. He knew better than to think Stephanie would be regarded in the same way a new, experienced, and trained male addition to the team would have been, but he also knew enough to try to approximate equal treatment as best as he could. He believed that through the years Stephanie had earned at least that much consideration. "You know, it's depreciatory to keep being so impressed just because she does her job. No one else around here expects laud and versicle for surviving his shift. Do you think she'd be grateful for all the praise?"

"Throw around as many five dollars words as you like; I know you've got plenty more at the ready. It won't change my mind or prove that you're right."

"Extolling her routine work implies it differs from ours in an appreciable way."

"Geez," Brett exclaimed defensively, "all I meant was, there have been doubts from some people about the decision to hire her, and last night put a few more of them to rest. I'm not trying to insinuate anything. There isn't always subtext, you know. _For goodness sake!_ Some things are just good."

Colt rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't tell me you're one of those happy, supportive, cheerleader, 'my cup runneth over' guys?" he asked with disdain.

Brett gave up on a civil conversation with either man. "My cup is none of your cranky business," he said as he moved from the table to the vacant easy chairs, grabbing up the remote and turning on the television.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The kitchen was still warm from an entire day of the oven's heat and the steam from the hot water in the sink made the air feel sticky. Stephanie pulled back one of the sheers in the kitchen window and wiped at the condensation on the glass. "What is he doing out there?"

'Elen Plum sloshed another pan into the soapy water. The strength of her scrubbing could be heard in the shaky chop of her voice, "How should I know? I haven't been in that garage for years."

"He's never taken anyone else out to the garage. He barely ever lets me in there."

"If you want to go out to the garage, all you have to do is say so. I know he would like your company."

The window squeaked as Stephanie brushed away more newly formed condensation gathering from her hot breath. "That's not the point, Mom."

"Stop gawking out the window. There are dishes that need drying." She held out a towel to her daughter and waited with an insistent pout for her to obey. Stephanie did as she was told and swabbed plates and glasses dry, sighing occasionally and repeatedly glancing over her shoulder at the back door. Without deviating from her task, 'Elen clipped the reproval, "Stop fussing over it. Your father isn't going to hurt him."

It wasn't until her mother voiced it aloud that Stephanie admitted to herself she actually was nervous that her dad might hurt Ranger. Afterall, this had been the day the news broke, thanks to her own big mouth confirming she'd had sex with Ranger. She knew locigally that it was impossible her dad had fund out. It was just a small fear that she knew was irrational, but it stoked her curiosity and kept her neck and shoulders tensed nonetheless."But why would he want him to go out there?"

"He probably has some new cigars," her mother informed her without concern.

"Ranger doesn't smoke."

"Well your father didn't know that, now did he?" she asked snippily enough that she might as well have added, '_since you never tell us anything,_' to the end of it.

They finished doing the dishes, waiting for the men to return and listening to the howling laughter of Edna and the girls in the next room. It was all Stephanie could do to keep away from the window. 'Elen tut-tutted as she watched her daughter worry her lip raw. "Stop that! It's unsightly and if you split your lip in this dry weather it will take days to heal."

Stephanie did stop. The back door swung open to reveal Mr. Plum and then quickly shut again. He passed through the room wordlessly, swiftly kissing Stephanie's forehead on his way to his easy chair in the living room. She smiled and checked the door again. "Where's Ranger?"

'Elen's hand landed on her daughter's, where it held a towel mid swipe across the bottom of a platter, and claimed, "he'll be along." That was as far as her comforting extended. She turned her attention to packing leftovers and setting out dessert. "Now I'm still watching you Stephanie, so don't go crazy with the cake."

Turning away from her mother to hide the childish face she pulled, Stephanie checked the window yet again and saw Ranger leaving the darkened garage. "I'll be right back," she mumbled in passing and ducked outside for a quick tête à tête. Once she was close enough, she sensed the difference in him. He was ineffably withdrawn, letting only fleeting traces of inscrutable inner contemplation show in his expression.

Before she could inquire, he announced, "Gotta run, Babe. I'll say my good-bye's and ask your mother if she'll send along dessert for me, but I can't stay and eat it. I need to get back to the office."

"Is everything okay?" she asked worriedly as a catalog of images of possible RangeMan emergencies flashed in her mind.

He nodded. "You stay and enjoy your sugar fix; you have plenty of time."

Stephanie recognized his non-answer and had more questions, but she contented herself with the consolation of a technically successful dinner at her parents'. "Alright," she answered. [*022]

Night had fully descended by then and the yard was blanketed in wintery shade. It created an atmosphere of seclusion that urged Stephanie on to a new brand of bravery. She searched his eyes. When she found them unreadable, she took the plunge anyway, shifting closer against him, sliding a hand around his waist, and claiming his mouth in a chaste embrace with her own. He gently reciprocated, dousing her in a buoyant, heady delight – the cold night air adamant in its reminder that they were outside, in full view of anyone who might care to glance in their direction and witness the farewell kiss. The intimate exchange was all too brief, but the effect of its ungarded exposure lingered between them, its significance emblazoned on the moment.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Greg Berman was a baby bird of a man, short, slight, twitchy and wide-eyed. Barely pausing in his brisk shuffle as he passed, he dropped the preliminary forensics report on Russell's desk. "You're not going to like it," was his only comment as he fluttered away. Robin was almost too anxious to open the file. If the evidence pointed to anything other than a rescue for Heidi and a prison sentence for Truth, she knew that Maglio would blow his top. Every interview had grown more contentious than the last. Upon hearing that Heidi Stokes had been officially declared missing, Casper laughed. Then when Maglio confronted him with the fact that there was an eye witness who placed him outside her house, he laughed again, taunting him, "oh yeah? And I'd swear on a stack that I was there the day the Hindenburg went down. You just can't trust people anymore, can you? What's the world coming to?"

Once Robin did read through the report, she thought she might cry. There was nothing. An entire day processing the scene had turned up less than a dozen fingerprints, no purse, wallet, or personal effects, no car, no DNA, no meaningful trace of particulates. There was barely any sign that _Heidi_ had ever been there. She studied the photos of the scene, reworking the incident, imagining what might have transpired between Stephanie and Casper that night. Something important happened and neither of them was willing to say an honest word about it. As she ran over all of the case details in her head, she hit upon a hopeful snag. _Casper's pant leg_. She flipped though all the pages again, looking for what should have been there. The crime scene unit hadn't found a bullet. A third time through the file proved as fruitless as the first and second had been. No bullets. There was a bullet hole with GSR in his pant leg and he'd blamed it on Stephanie. So where was the slug? Who was lying?

She looked up and scanned the room. "Hey you," she called out to the new guy, sitting alone with what looked like several more hours worth of reports to file. He glanced up at her and she remembered his name. "Lindy!" she beckoned. When he made his way close enough to hear, she enlisted his help, "I have something to take care of, but I'm waiting for an important call from the lab and paperwork from the D.A." She gestured at her desk, "just keep an eye on things here and call right away if anything comes through for me."

"Yes, ma'am," he answered and glanced at her desk, speed reading what he could while she was distracted.

"And if Det. Maglio asks, I went home for the night and took the CSU report with me." He nodded and she locked her desk before leaving, not that any lock could keep Officer Lindstrom out if he really wanted to see what was in it.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank was apprehensive when Ranger asked him to come up to the apartment instead of meeting him in his office. Once he was there though, he could well guess from Ranger's demeanor that it was because whatever Ranger wanted to talk to him about wasn't meant to be heard or witnessed. He was standing at the far side of his living room, arms folded, staring a hole in the wall. Tank barely had time to get in the room before Ranger started with, "Frank Plum pulled me aside after dinner."

"So you were visiting the folks tonight?" Tank let out a booming laugh, relieved and amused, assuming that after dinner with Stephanie's parents Ranger was having one of his rare, open moments when even the Mighty Manoso was stressed enough to need to talk it out. "This didn't have anything to do with wedding rumors going around town, did it?"

"Val eloped," he humorlessly clipped. "Stephanie's family is still positive that she'll marry Morelli and have his children. Now the subject of marriage is closed."

Tank's good spirits disappeared at Ranger's declaration. "Yo, man, I'm sorry."

Ranger was deathly quiet for a moment and when he next spoke, Tank knew with no further doubt that this wasn't going to be a friendly exchange. "Her father knows about Casper Truth."

If he'd had a million chances, Tank would have never guessed those would have been Ranger's next words. "Did Stephanie – ?"

"No," Ranger cut him off, "and not me either. He knows the cabbie."

"Oh, shit, of course. I forgot he drove a taxi."

"This changes things." Ranger raised a hand momentarily to stem the reaction he expected to get as he attempted to ply Tank, "I don't need or want a full debriefing."

"Ric, I can't," Tank declared reluctantly. Full debriefing or little hints, it was _all_ classified.

"I know exactly what I'm asking of you."

Tank hesitated. Ric had no idea what he was asking. This was about more than keeping state secrets. They'd both loved Vina as much as all the men had, but she was Lester's family, his world. "This is really a conversation you should be having with Lester."

Ranger hesitated a moment, not expecting Tank to pass the matter to Santos, but it was short-lived. "He'll get over it."

Tank knew that wasn't true. Despite Lester's best efforts to give that impression, he would never quite get over any of this.

Ranger watched Tank thinking it over and waited for the unspoken agreement he knew would come. When it did he asked, "who is he?"

Tank held Ragner's eye, debating with himself, wanting to shout and keep quiet all at once, the indecision making it hard to pull in air or move his limbs. Then after years of silence and suppression and self control the last thread broke... and he finally let go.

"Our last trip out, he killed Vina," he admitted, speaking aloud the painful secret he'd believed he would take to his grave.

Tank saw Ranger's stance loosen and felt his adrenaline spike in response. Before he could process the thought 'fight or flight' a heavy fist blurred his vision and he started losing altitude. He took a hit to the jaw and several blows to his kidney before he managed to throw together some scrap of defense. Furniture crashed around them. Tank tried to get an upper hand, but Ranger was on a mission. Tank wound up on the floor with a bloodied lip and Ranger's hand at his wind pipe.

"You son of a bitch," he hissed shakily with cold rage. "I didn't even know she was dead."

"No one does. It was covered up," Tank gasped and stopped clawing at Ranger's hand, knowing it was useless.

"Why? By who?"

"We're the only three that walked away."

Ranger loosened his grip so that Tank could speak, but he still kept the bigger man on his back. Tank coughed and spit out the beginnings of the crimson mess pooling in his mouth. "It was a clusterfuck," he panted. "I was hit. Les totally lost it. Truth disappeared. No one else made it out. Collateral damage. We weren't supposed to be there. You can't put shit like that on the evening news. It all went black. We had to sign."

Ranger's blood rushed and his body twitched with supressed anger. "He got to Stephanie!" he snarled.

"I know," Tank's voice was only a hoarse whisper.

"He was close enough to touch her." The pressure of Ranger's hand returned. "Because of you."

Tank's face crumpled and for a moment he almost looked like he wanted Ranger to keep squeezing, like he agreed with him and he just couldn't take the thought of another loss like the last one, like he was already too tired from living with that one secret failure to go on in fear that there might someday be another.

Ranger finally released his hold. He stood over him, not posing a threat nor offering him a hand up, and ordered, "you fix this."

Tank just nodded, gingerly climbing to his feet.

Ranger silently stormed off through the apartment and disgustedly threw a hand towel at him when he returned. "She is done with it," he nearly growled. "He will never come near her again. She's _done_; even if I have to refuse to sign her employment contract to make that happen."

Tank held the cloth to his mouth, running his tongue along the inside of his lip to assess the damage. He watched Ranger warily, noting that he was furious and panicked beyond the point of pacing. Ranger's eyes darted to and fro as his mind had visible difficulty processing the new information. "You're losing it," Tank told him.

Ranger's focus returned and he simply explained, "it's Stephanie."

"Same as always," Tank said matter-of-factly. "But even when things went wrong before you always kept your head on straight. By now you should know better than to tie her hands and push her away."

Ranger retrieved two ice packs from his freezer. He tossed one to Tank and held the other on an elbow he'd knocked during the mini-brawl. Staring at the spot on the counter where Stephanie had once kept Rex and which had sat empty ever since, Ranger felt his fight against the encroaching helplessness begin to waver. "She makes me want things," he quietly confessed, "that I just can't risk."

Tank understood what he meant. Stephanie was changing Ric. He'd started to want things that he'd never considered for himself, things he was so sure he couldn't have, things that he hadn't left room for in his life. But he couldn't let them go any more than he could imagine actually attaining them. "But they aren't yours to risk, are they?" Tank shrewdly noted.

After a contemplative minute, Ranger asked, "Why did you _really_ hire her?"

"The Barroni case," Tank sighed and eased his weight onto one of the kitchen stools. "Working with her was what got that job done. She walked you through like it was a test she already had the answers for. It didn't go sideways until you left and she went out on her own because you were gone and Morelli was MIA as usual. A big part of that is my fault. I've worked with her more than the others and I never really made an effort. But if she'd been comfortable with me or the other guys here, that day with Stiva would have gone differently. She would have told one of us what she found. She wouldn't have been alone out there." He gave his head a shake of self reproach. "Hiring her, it's like giving the men permission to get to know her. That's how it should have been all along."

Ranger considered that statement, mentally taking on his own share of the responsibility. He remembered Lester's insistence that he was going to have to learn to share and the sad weight of Stephanie's gaze when she had explained to him that she had reservations about RangeMan because of how little she knew about the men with whom she'd be working, Tank and himself included. "You need to tell her your name," he said.

"Maybe," Tank conceded, never having given it much thought before but recognizing the potenial significance. Figuring Ranger seemed calm enough by that point and that he'd already taken the beating, Tank aired the rest of his thoughts without worry that he'd provoke another, "and maybe you need to tell her about your family."

Ranger actually rolled his eyes at what had become Tank's fall-back, party line over the years. "Yeah, maybe."

Tank knew Ranger's motives for hiding his personal background from people. They weren't to be discounted. Tank couldn't say that he wouldn't do the same thing if he was in his position, but he wished Ric would tell Stephanie. A decade of work and friendship with Ric couldn't explain more to someone about who he truly was than one half hour of conversation about his family and what had occurred between them before he'd joined the Army.

Stephanie was the polar opposite. She wore her heart on her sleeve and couldn't have kept the details of her life private if she'd wanted. Somehow that gave people the idea that they knew her. But that very public mask of hers could be as deceptive as the blank one Ranger wore.

With a tired shake of his head at his own arrogance for having assumed he knew enough about Stephanie to 'manage' her, Tank dispiritedly lamented, "you know, the way we handled the Stiva thing was pretty fucked up. It's no wonder she freaked out today when it was brought up again. She was assaulted and man-handled all day by Stiva. He trapped her in a casket," he paused for a beat and gave a great shudder at the thought. "Then as soon as she was freed again we gave her orders and she did exactly what was asked of her. How many hours was she locked up, wearing those cuffs? The first thing we did was put them right back on her so someone else could drag her away. She didn't even complain. She just waited until we released her and then drove back to us. After a day from hell, her thoughts were about making sure the guy didn't get away and helping us cover our asses. Not to mention comforting you the entire time. Then she thanked us for it. What were we thinking taking her back to her apartment where she would have been alone? We should have convinced her to come back here. The way she was stuffed inside that cabinet, we should have been taking care of her."

Ranger didn't have to say that he agreed for Tank to get the message. He could well see that the events of that night still weighed heavily on Ranger's mind.

Tank stood and gestured a thank you for the towel and ice as he left the kitchen. "She blows me away, Ric," he spoke on his way out. "I've thought about it, about how I would have reacted if I thought I'd been buried alive. I know one thing for sure." He turned back when he reached the door, "I wouldn't have remembered to bring a baggy with me for when I walked the dog."

"T," Ranger stopped him to ask the last question he would ever voice about the old, blacked-out mission, "how did she die?" The disclosure of Vina's death was finally beginning to register in the pit of his stomach. It was sharp and it weighed a ton. Then it got heavier when he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to her. He couldn't remember the last words they'd said to each other, having forgotten them with the confidence that he'd certainly see her again someday.

Tank took a slow, deep pull of air. "Shot in the head."

Ranger struggled not to impose that scenario onto his mental image of Stephanie. "I'll talk to Santos," he said, indicating that Tank shouldn't mention anything to Lester until then.

"You better take care of that," Tank pointed at Ranger's battered knuckles. "Steph's gonna want to know what happened."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

"To be honest, I didn't think I'd hear from you again." His hand snaked over the center console to touch her, brushing the light fabric of her skirt father up her thigh with the callused pads of his fingertips. "Never thought you'd call," his tongue peeked out from between is lips for a microsecond. Even in the low light, the contrast of his lighter skin against the smooth expanse of her burnt umber flesh made his blood rush. He knew she was using him, but as long as she used him the same way she had the last time they'd met, he was all for it.

"How could I not," she cooed. She kept her eyes on the road and allowed his rough fingers access to her silky, bare skin.

"Where are we going?" he asked. The last of the road signs and working street lamps had disappeared from the rearview mirror several miles back. Paved curbs had been replaced by weed-choked, gravel shoulders and the road surface was worn so badly the thin line separating the two lanes was no longer visible.

With one hand on the wheel, she ran the other up his arm to the back of his neck and smiled when she twisted her fingers in his shaggy locks. "Some place private."

The quay was deserted. When the car pulled to a stop a few minutes later, the woman cut the engine and the lights. Ensconced in darkness, she used her grip on his neck to pull her companion into a deep kiss, hoping to work his tongue loose with her own. "Did you go talk to Kenny like I asked?" she panted as she leaned back far enough to see his face.

He rolled his eyes and frowned. "Yeah, but like I told ya, Kenny's a moron."

She kissed him again, letting his hands roam where they would. Once several buttons had been undone, she broke away to probe for more information. "Did you ask him about the transistor anyway?" she whispered.

"He told me he didn't know what an OFET was," he answered as he slid his warm hand completely under her skirt and cupped her ass. [1]

She fought off the urge to shove him away and asked, "he couldn't remember ever stealing part of a computer or anything electronic? Did he mention having something that was different from the other things he took."

She grit her teeth as his fingers swept and probed their way beneath layers of thin cotton to a treasure of soft curls. "If he knew he had anything like that he would have sold it a long time ago," his ministrations were impatient and frustrated by the limited space.

"Sold it to who?" she asked between heavy breaths. She matched the rhythm of his puffing, gauging the effect it was having on his thoughts. He was losing focus.

"I don't know."

Hearing the aggravation in his tone, she set the parking brake and shifted her weight. Throwing her leg over his lap to straddle him in his seat, she bent her head, "Baby, I need details."

"I don't have any, but maybe I can talk to him again," he suggested as he hurriedly undid the buttons of her blouse, "and maybe after that we can meet again to talk it over."

She was starting to get the feeling that what he wasn't saying to her was the real message. "What about his sister?" she demanded, starting to lose some of her control of her temper.

"He hates her," he said distractedly. With the final button loose, he roughly palmed her breasts and ground his hips up against her. He was tired of talking.

Persisting with her questioning, she asked, "Did he mention her? Does he know she's missing?"

"No," he answered ambiguously and unhelpfully.

"What _did_ he say to you then?" She was getting fed up with this patty-cake game and wanted answers. Time was running out. Casper would be released soon, she didn't completely trust Lindstrom, and she was already itching to get out of New Jersey. They'd already been in town too long.

"The same things he always says."

Leaning back, she looked him in the eye as she reached down to firmly rub him through his pants. "You never talked to him, did you Baby?" she asked with a sultry smile and a light, amused tone.

Eyes fully dilated and breath ragged, he smiled back and groaned, "I don't even know where he is, haven't seen him in over a year." He kissed her neck and felt the soft purr in her throat against his tongue. It was enough encouragement. "He was doing time at Rahway," he admitted.

"You've been lying to me," she stated through tightly clenched teeth. It wasn't a question, and it was punctuated by increased pressure from both her hand on his stiff member and her knee on his femoral nerve. "I hate being lied to."

"Fuck, Wanda," he hissed.

All trace of her friendly playfulness was gone. "I asked you for a favor and you let me down." She squeezed harder. "If you have anything useful to tell me, this is the time for it."

"He did his time," the words were broken and halting through the pain, "with a guy named Hoerman." As she tightened her hold on his hair and pulled back, the rest of his information came in a sudden, desperate wave. "Kenny always called him Bug because he was some kind of tech wizard," he grunted in pain, "he got his degree while he was inside. If Kenny stayed in touch with anyone," another grunt, "it'd be him and if he had any components he'd take them to Bug first."

She released him and climbed out of the car, keys in hand. "Hey, where are you going?" He followed her around the back of the car, fly undone and outrage written on his face. "What the hell was that?"

Ignoring him, she turned her key in the truck lock and popped it open.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed when he saw the miscellaneous free weights and length of heavy, chain she was carting around. "I'm not into this kind of shit."

He turned back around to find her standing before him, open shirt fluttering lightly in the chill wind and arm outstretched in front of her. _Pfft. Pfft_. He gasped and groaned, then fell to the cold earth with a heavy, muted thud and the crack of a bone twisting unnaturally on impact. It wasn't her signature kill, but she wasn't trying to send any messages and didn't have time for any fanfare. It was only a matter of time now until Casper was released. The Stokes problem was getting out of hand and they still had so much left to do. At times such as those, a silenced double tap to the head always worked in a pinch. She rolled his body to the river's edge and lashed the weights to it before shoving it over the side of the quay with a small splash.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Colt and Vince were both getting off the elevator in the garage as I stepped into it. "I'll just be a minute," I ensured Vince when I saw his frown as he stepped toward the SUV. "I'll be right back down."

Vince shot Colt a pointed look as he waved him on and smiled, stepping back into the elevator with me. "You know," he drawled, "I musta forgot my book." The elevator dinged close. He was between me and the panel. "Darlin?" he prompted as he hit six, but he didn't move to press any other button or move to give me room. I had to brush against him slightly as I reached for my button and I was uncomfortable with how good I thought he smiled.

"I forgot something too," I glanced at him, "my vest."

Colt glanced at the elevator's lit number seven. "Oh, you mean up at Ranger's last night?" I felt my teeth clench. There was a stiff silence while I tried to decide what to say, but he went on without a reply. "You should really think about keeping your vest in the vehicle and having more than one."

"I did," I explained in my defense. "It was in the car. But someone blew it up, along with my gun and phone… and cello."

He glanced down at me beside him. "I heard something about that," he said. "It was the latest one right? You were living with the detective?"

_Hells bells and carmel-coated marshmallow bits!_ Wanting out of that elevator and any conversation about Morelli, I reached to tap my floor's button again. Then I regretted it immediately when I felt him turn slightly into the second brush against him allowing him some control of the brief contact.

I took a swift step back and hated the smile that appeared on his lips. "I was being stalked," I clipped, "an old woman, a fast food location, and his garage were all unanticipated casualties."

The doors slid open on six and Colt looked at me. "Essentials like guns, vests, escape routes, hideaways, anything you might…" his voice fell lower as he moved passed me, closer than was necessary, "feel the need for; you should always have more than one spare in the wings," he held my eye with a crooked grin and stepped off the elevator backwards. _Was that a proposition or an insult?_ Either way, I think he might have deserved a slap. You know, Colt was almost certainly my least favorite Rangeman. I tried to shake that whole exchange off of me at the ding for my floor. I still had an entire shift in front of me that night and my ass was already dragging.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**  
>[*022 : Bic Runga – Bursting Through ]<p>

[1 - Organic Field Effect Transistor (This is related to nanotechnology and 'organic electronics' which includes things like electronic paper. LCD technologies, and electronic ID tags. The specifics aren't really important to the plot, just consider it a special type of computer chip used in newer electronics.)]


	24. Chapter 24

Author – PinPin  
><span>Rating<span> R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (some originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful. Citations with an asterisk are non-essential.

** A/N: This is a short chapter, but I thought I'd try updating this way – shorter, but slightly more frequent chapters. (Honest and constructive feedback/opinions on the matter are always helpful and welcome.) **

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter 24**

Breezing into the apartment, I called out, "Hey, are you here? I just need to grab my vest." I spotted Ranger in the living room. He stood and I did a double take when he slipped his hands in his pockets. It looked strange. I couldn't think of any other time I'd seen him stand around with his hands in his pockets.

There were only a few free minutes until I'd officially be late to my shift for the first time. So I went about sorting through my bag, double checking and packing as fast as I could. When I turned back to face the room I nearly jumped out of my skin. Ranger had approached silently and was standing directly in front of me. But I recovered quickly enough. "And thank you for dinner."

He didn't respond right away and I noticed his closed expression for the first time. It was unnerving. There was concentrated power in the set of his jaw and the depths of his eyes. His enthralling, borderline cloying, warmth was missing. It seemed he'd turned to stone, until he asked in a flat, hushed voice, "do you want to marry him?"

I don't know how I managed to stay upright, but I did. My mind, on the other hand, went reeling ass over teakettle into another dimension and stranded me there with only my astonishment to help formulate an answer. I felt ambushed, with a small side order of betrayal. "What did my dad say to you tonight?"

"Answer the question."

I couldn't begin to fathom where the question had even come from. This kind of topic was in effect a taboo for us. We feinted and parried in circles around the serious subjects, but we never confronted them. Or each other. It was way too scary. I could barely speak through the confusion and dread lodged in my throat. "Why are you asking me that?" I inquired with an unconscious step closer to the door.

Ranger advanced to match my retreat and then some. The spark of anger in his gaze made him appear larger than he truly was, looming above with his brusque, demanding question, "Do you want to marry him?"

"No," I finally admitted with a firm tone and my head held high with indignation that he was even asking.

"His wife could never do this kind of work. Not at RangeMan. He wouldn't tolerate it."

Like someone had thrown a switch, I had this sudden flash back to my hazy night in the garage with Val.

_"We can't all have 'world's sexiest man' contestants chasing after us, you know."  
><em>_"I think 'chasing' is too strong a word. It's more like they tolerate me."  
><em>_"Whatever, Steph. You need to get your head out of your ass."_

Then I was hit by the cake-relapse, sugar high of the millennium. It was uncontrollable. A volcano of incensed fury blasted every inch of me.

What gave everyone the idea that my life was a quandary up for open debate? First it's my mother; she's been doing it for years. Then Joe lashes out at me with accusations because of the way he views my life. Val treats me like I'm a puzzle that's missing a few pieces. Tank pipes up and tells me the kind of work I should be doing and dictating how I do it. Lester pushes and pulls at me with inarticulate lectures. Colt, who is practically a stranger, is overly critical of things that are none of his business. Bobby dismisses me out of hand. And Lula went so far as to tell me I was walking around completely oblivious. Even Ram got in on the act a few times, lending unsolicited advice.

Well, I was done being told by other people who I was and how my life worked. It was no one's place to tolerate me, as if my life was contingent on someone else's approval. Sexiest man contestant or not, I deserved more than someone who just _put up_ with me. _Much more_. I looked up at the angry man towering over me. I deserved more than whatever the hell this little dog and pony show was about. I shoved him away, but gaining the space to stare clearly into his face only added fuel to the fire.

"You know when I have trouble understanding you and get things wrong, it's because you never tell me anything about yourself. And honestly, I'm okay with that most of the time. At least I have an excuse when I'm totally clueless. But you," I was so agitated I gave him another small shove and ignored the surprise that registered on his face, "I value privacy and all, but I don't hide who I am from you, Ranger. Not when it counts. _Never from you_. And you can _still_ believe it of me that I could marry a man who wouldn't _tolerate_ the woman I want to be? Is that why you think I spend my nights with you; because my fiancé is cranky about my career choices?"

Ranger's shock at being shoved was rapidly replaced by a more than healthy amount of his own anger. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"It wouldn't be a problem if you ever said anything for yourself."

"It's not about me this time, Babe. It's about _you_ and the answers _you_ don't want to give."

"Oh, right, so this is about the words you want to put in my mouth?" It was unbelievable to me that we were arguing. _Again_. I'd thought dinner had gone well. "Just who do you think you are anyway?" I asked as I hastily ripped open the door and stepped into the hall. I was going to be late now.

He followed me out. "Stop, we're not done here," he pronounced as I marched to the stairwell's door, forgoing the wait for the elevator.

"I am," I pronounced right back at him. The fact that he would demand answers without giving any himself, acting put upon that he even had to ask the questions, made me want to scream. What gave him the right to order me to explain myself, to do something I'm not even supposed to _consider_ expecting from him? Who was he to say this was about me and yet still make it all about what he wanted?

"Don't walk away from me, Stephanie. You need to have this conversation."

I think I seriously could have hit him. Listening to someone dictate what was best for me sounded too familiar. Hearing it from Ranger bordered on nightmarish. "Would you listen to yourself, you condescending bastard?"

I didn't look back as I entered the stairwell, but I saw the indicator lights on the cameras signal that they'd been scrambled. Then I heard his shouted, "Babe!" and his footsteps shadowing mine as I began descending.

But all that did was speed my steps along. "The only reason I _need_ to do what you want, is that _you want me to do it_. Well _news-flash_; that's not how it works, _Babe_."

"That's not what I said either."

Halting on the fourth floor landing I demanded, "Then say what you mean already!"

"This job will change your life; you have to be sure. You can't dismiss this and forget about it. No one is going to make this decision for you." He stepped closer to me, close enough to feel his body heat, like liquid fire seeping into my personal space. "You came to RangeMan without settling your problems with Morelli first and after all this time you should've known better than to think you could skate over the issue."

My breath left me. _Be careful what you wish for Stephanie_. Ranger had finally spoken his mind, and it was to scold me as noncommittal, to express his doubt in me.

My world tipped over onto its side and I might have literally staggered a step or two. This wasn't about me or him or… _us_. This was about my job and my abilities. This was about RangeMan and how I'd be the reason if Joe started making trouble for them. Ranger had reached his limit. He was done _putting up_ with me and my 'issues' and was confronting me about it.

Four of his words echoed on a loop in my head, '_after all this time_.' I couldn't escape them. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like they'd repeated over and over until the sound was meaningless and powerful enough to overtake the magnitude of the moment as I faced the unveiling of the latest, and perhaps the most distressing, facet of Ranger's character that he had put on offer to date – the irritated, emotional, alpha male.

The strong, steady, furious hum in my ears slowly but evenly righted the world once again. As I regained my balance, my outrage planted its feet and squared its shoulders right beside me. 'After all this time,' huh? _All this time?_ Well, where the hell was he the last four years? Right there along with me the whole time, beginning to end, never doing anything to help out his own cause. It's not exactly like anyone was blindsided by the fact that Joe didn't like Ranger or his company. Joe thought Ranger was a lunatic long before I entered the bond enforcement arena. But now the animosity between them was the result of my personal problems with Joe? That was bullshit.

What did he know anyway? Joe wasn't a problem. He had nothing to do with any of this. The only time I'd seen Joe since the night at the station was to clarify my intentions regarding work and explain why I'd left him. Joe and I were over, not running off to Reno.

I continued on my way, too pissed to even look at him. "You're a smart man, Ranger," I snapped impatiently. "You've been all over the place, known a lot of people, and seen a lot of things. Things I'm sure I can't even imagine. But that doesn't make you an expert on all things, especially not me. You can plant as many little gadgets on me as you can buy, hire as many men as you can find to follow me around, but despite all of it you just never learn!"

"Enlighten me then," the forceful words echoed in the stairwell behind me. He was as angry as I was by that point and all that did was make me angrier!

"No! You don't get to make demands here or tell me what I have to do! You don't get to control this!"

"I'm not trying to control you! I just asked a question. One that you didn't want to answer."

"You asked a question alright, but it wasn't to hear my answer. _Because you think you already know it!_"

"Don't I? I know you aren't as clueless or forthcoming as you pretend to be. You wear those blinders willingly, especially when it comes to Morelli."

Finally stepping down onto the ground floor, I whirled around. "That is so fucking insulting!" I poked an angry finger in his chest. "_You do __**not**__ know more about my life than I do!_"

"Stephanie…" Ranger ground out.

But I didn't want to hear anymore from him. He wasn't saying anything worth listening to. "I _am not_ going to marry Joe. Does that answer your questions? I was NEVER going to marry him. God, we were never even seriously engaged. It was all like some bad joke that kept getting worse. Joe never really officially proposed and he certainly never will. He always knew that it wasn't going to happen. But that's only one of the reasons he hates you so much." I angrily burst through the door to the garage. When I heard it reopen behind me, I turned to Ranger one last time. "You don't know as much as you think you do. You never did."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

The thin, bright beam of light swept across the expanse of chain link. [*023] Finding no weaknesses or telltale damage, Detective Russell progressed to the next fence and repeated the examination. Then she moved on to the next and the next. The block's yards were almost all lined with privacy fencing, affording the homes relative privacy but not much security. There were rusted latches and locks left unlocked. The bolt on Heidi Stokes' gate didn't even close completely anymore.

She switched off the light and surveyed the alley again. Multiple story buildings and large, reaching oak trees cast shadows that flowed across every surface and into every corner. Where it fell the darkness provided more privacy than any of the fences and made security nearly nonexistent. From the back employee access door of the Yarn Depot, she could barely make out the other end of the block. The only street light that could have shined as far as that buzzed and blinked dimly, making its presence negligible at best. If she was going to dig up any credible witnesses, it wasn't going to be from there.

Another circuit around the house offered few alternatives. A townhouse across the street might have had a decent view of neighboring activities, but was vacant for sale. An apartment building farther down the block was another with a line of sight, but the credibility of a witness from that distance would be shaky. The neighbors had already been questioned. A few of them heard the shots, but unfortunately it wasn't unusual enough to get them out of bed to investigate or even recall the exact date or time.

Standing in the lot of the Yarn Depot again, her gut was telling her that although there were numerous ways in which it was possible for someone to come and go from the house unnoticed, it was most likely to have been through the lot in the back. She pulled out her pad and pen and jotted down the posted information for the apartment building's manager, the real estate agent selling the townhouse, and the details of the pawn shop across the street from the Yarn Depot where a sign in the window clearly stated that the entire premises were monitored by security camera. Maybe if they were lucky there would be one witness whose recollections couldn't be doubted.

Robin clicked her flashlight back on and returned to her search. She knew that they had to have missed something earlier. Long plastic tendrils of what resembled burnt Easter grass fluttered from the lowest branches on several haggard shrubs in the alley. A smashed styrofoam cup from the gas station on the corner and half a hotdog bun were lodged into the partially frozen mud. A plastic wrapper snagged on a fence rustled in the wind, periodically shifting to reveal something metallic. She moved closer and found a broken knitting needle still stuck between two slates in the fencing. Cursing aloud and residing herself to a night of re-searching the areas classified as public or covered in the warrant, she retrieved the overlooked implement and pulled an evidence bag from her pocket. Once the seal was sealed and the label labeled, she redirected her beam of light and focused on finding any other sliver of metal that might have been missed earlier that day.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Vince checked his watch again. She was late, but he wasn't entirely sure what to do about it. No matter how equal he intended to treat her, there were a few areas that just didn't quite translate, like the kick in the ass that he would have given to any of the other men if they'd kept him waiting even these few moments. Of course that didn't mean he couldn't give her a little lip when she finally showed up.

He sat up when he heard the heavy garage door open. _Finally_. What he saw in his rearview mirror, however, made him wish he hadn't. It looked as if Stephanie and the boss were having some sort of tiff. That certainly didn't augur a terrific night for him.

Stephanie on the other hand, would have normally considered the few minutes delay as barely even rating on the scale and believed herself 'on time.' But she also knew that Rangemen operated according to a different set of standards than the rest of the universe. So she made a point of apologizing, even if she sounded utterly unapologetic about it. "Sorry, I was delayed," she said as she climbed into the truck.

He noticed her heavier than normal breathing first. Her knee was jumping in her lap as she tried, unsuccessfully to put Ranger out of her mind. She was chewing her cheek, arms crossed and mildly sulking. The ride was quickly turning uncomfortable for them both.

With one desperate fleeting thought about how far he could trust Ram's advice about Stephanie, Vince decided to speak up, hoping that he might lighten the mood a little, avoid an entire shift of her poor mood, and maybe earn a smile from her. "There was a girl," he began. "She paid a visit to Santa before Christmas, sat on his lap, and asked him for a new Barbie doll and a G.I. Joe. Santa smiled and patiently explained to the little girl that Barbie always comes with Ken. But the girl shook her head and told him he was wrong, 'No she doesn't. She comes with G.I Joe. She fakes it with Ken'."

"What did you say?" she instantly snapped. She would have sworn in open court that she'd misheard him. There was _no way_ he had made that joke to _her_ on that night. She felt like she was going crazy. Male sensitivity about performance in the boudoir was the last thing she needed on her mind just then. She'd very fortunately only ever faked it on a handful of occasions and there was no way that anyone could know about that anyway. Granted it wasn't a usual problem for her, but was it really that big a deal if a woman just wasn't into it every now and then?

"We're headed back to the Galucci job; Manny's already there," Vince brushed past his obvious faux pas. Stephanie rolled her eyes, held back her 'duh' and crossed her arms tighter around herself for the rest of the long, silent ride.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.  
><strong>[*023 : New Order – Elegia ]

* Coming soon: Stephanie gets to know Vince and Manny better, both R&S spend some time thinking, more of the mysterious femme fatale, and Stephanie finds out how bad things can get when she acts impulsively. *

**A/N, p.s.: (1) Since I can't PM anon. reviewers, I'd like to thank 'Old Retired Lady' for her kind words and encouragement. (2) I'd like to ensure Cristi, that the scenes in which R/S make progress have already been written. It's going to happen. : ) **


	25. Chapter 25

Author – PinPin  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (some originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Babe, but Cupcake respectful. Citations with an asterisk are non-essential.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter 25**

Stephanie wasn't outright stomping as she entered the house, but her quick, jerky movements and the way she lobbed her things into a heavy heap on the floor sent up a flare that any man who isn't brain dead recognizes as a critical warning sign; 'this woman is pissed.'

"I heard there was a change in this evening's progr – ," she stopped short at the sight that greeted her. The recording devices were shut off and the monitors dark. Half empty packs sat open, waiting to be filled. "What's going on?"

"We're pulling up stakes here," Vince answered as he joined Manny in his task.

Stephanie turned to Manny for more explanation. "The system's already off. We're uninstalling tonight," he supplied.

"Why?" She watched them pull plugs and coil cords for a moment, still confused. "We can't."

"Have to," Manny rebutted. "Boss was with Papa G all afternoon. He wants this wrapped up. The divorce isn't going to be a problem with what we've got, so we're just after the money now. We're putting surveillance on Paulie Bedolla, one of Mancini's cousins. Turns out he has some money in the electronics outfit you were looking at last night and he uses the same accounting firm run by an old college buddy. The skimming might go so far that the financial lawyer has a piece of it."

She hadn't been expecting it, but as she considered the idea that eventually they'd have to stop watching the house despite all that they'd learned about the ways in which it was used, she felt helpless and cheated somehow. "So one of Galucci's goons gets caught red-handed and that's it; he shuts us down?"

"Not us," Manny corrected her. "This doesn't have anything to do with us. Surveillance just isn't necessary anymore. He's found a better, and cheaper, way to get the rest of what he's after. _We,_" he gestured between them, "don't figure into it."

"And they'll keep using the house? It was set up as a… those men, they use it…" she was so appalled she was having trouble finding the words for it, "for women they don't want anyone to know about. It's… he's enabling depravity."

They both saw her irresolution, eyes pleading for some kind of answer that she could believe. Vince hesitated before speaking, unsure that he knew the right thing to say. "Someone somewhere is being victimized every second of every day. We do our part where we can and have to live with the rest, just like anyone else. For something like this we turn over what we know to the police and let them handle it from there."

Stephanie didn't know what to say to that. The Rangemen had a way of making arguments that sounded right but felt wrong. She clicked her slack jaw shut and dropped the subject to focus on the work. For an hour she quietly learned, hands-on, how to dismantle a fully equipped surveillance post, forgetting momentarily her dismay at the assignment.

When the model home was once again generically void of life, they locked the door behind them and moved across the street to Galucci's. The house had been transformed in Stephanie's eye. No longer a common, dime-a-dozen, cookie cutter, mini-mansion; it now stood out among the rest, like a haunted palace, phantasmic in its degeneracy. She shivered as she followed the others inside. The acrid scents of liquor and sick didn't linger from the night before, but they were permanently fixed in her memory. She itched with the urge to break out some disinfectant and cleanse every visible inch of the building. It felt like a year, not a day, since she'd held back Dinah's hair, counting the minutes until help arrived. The thought that it was by mere chance that Rangemen had been there expecting to wire a car on the same night the girl had been dragged into that house, lodged itself in Stephanie's pharynx and swelled as she tapped down all the horrifying 'what if's' that were threatening to choke her.

Manny watched her closely, noting her deep distraction, the way she avoided looking in the direction of the sofa, and her startled reaction as she was forced out of her thoughts and back into the present by the call of her name.

"Plum, listen up," Vince commenced, as they got to work. "This residential system is kind of like the one in your apartment." He went into a detailed explanation of how to integrate the wiring of a RangeMan security system into a home's electrical specifications, which was then quickly followed by his reassurance that Stephanie wasn't ever likely to be required to install a system on her own. It was more important for her to know the process in reverse and be able to identify correctly any tampering with the electrical components.

Recognizing the significance of the lesson and grateful that she was finally being trained in something rather than being expected to magically know it via Ranger-osmosis, Stephanie struggled again to push back her darker thoughts about what they were doing and focus on learning how to do it.

She moved with them from room to room, observing carefully and assisting when needed, like a nurse in an operating room. She inquired about parts that resembled the alarm systems at the commercial properties she'd inspected with Bobby and Hector, surprising Vince with her retention and understanding of the intricate assemblage. It wasn't until they'd reached the exterior sensor she'd disabled with Woody's knife that the specter of the previous night returned to creep over her and shift her focus back to questioning the prudence behind terminating the surveillance on the house.

"Okay," she spoke up, unable to keep her peace any longer, "I understand what you're saying about the job you were hired to do versus some personal, impulsive crusade for justice, but it feels like there has to be something we could do that's a happy medium and that whatever that is, we should be doing it. Bond enforcement is always an 'after the fact' reckoning, but this could be different. I mean, don't you get tired of watching all the shit people inflict on each other?" They both stopped to stare, but neither had an answer for her. "Well, I want to help and this place seems like the perfect place to start doesn't it?"

"To start?" Manny asked. "So you're talking about going beyond that, to a middle and even an end? Because that fight _would_ have to be a crusade, and it would be about as drawn out, bloody, and ineffective as they were." He looked up from where he was crouched beside the house's exterior power source. "Thinking like that will pull you under. Today is hard enough without dreading tomorrow's problems and obsessing over events that haven't happened yet."

Stephanie scowled at him, her anger from her morning conversation with Bobby suddenly revived, and demanded, "tell me you aren't serious."

Vince could see Stephanie's mood shift into a darker place. "Oh boy, here we go again with the amateur history lessons and armchair psychology," he rolled his eyes at Manny from where he was dismantling a motion detector above the garage door. "Was that meant to be advice for her? Because it's asinine," he gibed.

They leveled a firm, challenging glare at each other for several beats and came to a kind of unspoken agreement that was lost on Stephanie but would have made any of the other Rangemen groan and retreat as quickly as they could manage. Manny and Vince were an odd pair and didn't often work together for good reason. They had an unhelpful habit of losing focus around each other.

Manny straightened his shoulders a bit and said, "Those who reproach humanity with always gaping towards the future and who teach us to grasp present goods and to be satisfied with them since we have no hold over what is to come – less hold, even, than we have over the past – touch upon the most common of human aberrations. … We are never 'at home': we are always outside ourselves. Fear, desire, hope, impel us towards the future; they rob us of feelings and concern for what now is, in order to spend time over what will be – even when we ourselves shall be no more." [*1]

Stephanie blinked at him a few times, wondering whether she'd heard him correctly or started hallucinating. "That's your memory thing again, right?" she asked uncertainly. "You're doing your thing now, like last night?"

Vince groaned, making a simulated retching sound. "Don't listen to him. Once he starts with all the quotations, he stops making any sense. It's hogwash, especially in this case, because as useless and depressing as it is to dwell on what the future may hold for the women who might end up here, you can just as easily argue that the circumstances of 'right now' aren't any cheerier since it includes both the aftermath that the past women are currently experiencing and some sicko presently plotting his next twisted weekend in this house. It's faulty reasoning."

Stephanie blinked again, just as dumbfounded by Vince's reaction as Manny's quotation. _Where the hell was all of this coming from?_

"See, now it's my turn to call bullshit," Manny huffed. "That is a total unknown, no more or less true than what I said."

"What you said was egocentric casuistry," Vince countered.

"You are just determined to be irritable," Manny accused.

"Well, you're irritating," Vince shot back. "You're intentionally neglecting relative contexts."

"And you're intentionally anathematic without reason. 'Every man is sufficiently discontented with some circumstances of his present state, to suffer his imagination to range more or less in quest of future happiness, and to fix upon some point of time, in which, by the removal of the inconvenience which now perplexes him, or acquisition of the advantage which he at present wants, he shall find the condition of his life very much improved. When this time, which is too often expected with great impatience, at last arrives, it generally comes without the blessing for which it was desired; but we solace ourselves with some new prospect, and press forward again with equal eagerness. It is lucky for a man, in whom this temper prevails when he turns his hopes upon things wholly out of his own power; since he forbears then to precipitate his affairs, for the sake of the great event that is to complete his felicity, and waits for the blissful hour, with less neglect of the measures necessary to be taken in the mean time'." [*2]

Stephanie felt a headache rapidly approaching. She was confused and out of breath just listening to him.

But Vince certainly followed every word and found them laughable. "So, what then," he derided, "you want us to turn our frowns upside down and whistle as we work?"

Undaunted, Manny persisted, "One of the prevailing sources of misery and crime is in the generally accepted assumption, that because things have been wrong a long time, it is impossible they will ever be right." [*3]

"I'm not looking for a full blown philosophical debate here, Man. Nor do I want to suffer through one of your pseudo-seminars in literature. You've lost sight of the whole point."

"And the point would be..?"

Vince cleared his throat and mockingly affected Manny's mannerism of tone, "As an enduring attribute, it isn't intrinsically positive or negative that she looks ahead to a posited version of the future and is unsatisfied with what she discerns."

Stephanie listened to them contradict each other, unclear on neither her own feelings about the fact that she seemed to be a central theme in their verbal sparring nor what exactly they were debating in the first place.

"Well, maybe she disagrees with you about that," Manny suggested. "And maybe you shouldn't be presuming to speak for her on the matter."

"Geez, Manny, doesn't lugging that soapbox around get exhausting? We _have_ to operate on the assumption that everything might go wrong in the future. We work in security."

"You're rationalizing your misanthropy."

"Cataloging and preparing for all of the terrible scenarios possible is what we get paid to do. Pessimism can be an asset."

"_My point_ is that we can't let it eat at us."

"Oh, how wise of you," Vince deadpanned. "Do tell us, how does one achieve such felicity and peace of mind?"

Manny smiled wickedly, "Come, read to me some poem, / Some simple and heartfelt lay, / That shall soothe this restless feeling, / And banish the thoughts of day." [*4]

"No, _absolutely not_," Vince declared gathering up a load of the newly uninstalled equipment and heading back inside the house, "no more poetry! That's where I'm drawing the line."

Stephanie followed him, leaving Manny behind and carrying another load of cameras and wires. "I kind of like the poems. It's better than whatever the hell that other stuff was."

"We'll see how you feel about it once you have an out of town assignment together and have to ride around in a car with him all day long," Vince said as he pulled zippers to and fro, packing wire, lens, and battery with practiced hands. "If the shift is long enough, maybe he'll narrate a medieval epic for you."

"Such songs have power to quiet / The restless pulse of care," Manny said as he finally followed them back inside with the last of the outdoor equipment, passing through the room with a cheshire grin, "and come like the benediction / That follows after prayer." [*4]

"Who wrote that?" Stephanie asked, amused at how exuberant Manny was at Vince's annoyance.

"Longfellow," Vince answered for him.

Stephanie planted her hands on her hips in a show of contrary disbelief, "you just said you don't like poetry."

"No, I never said that. I'm partial to Blake, actually," Vince offered in a conciliatory tone.

"You would be," sounded out from several rooms away. Manny's tone was much more accusatory.

Stephanie gave her head a shake and sighed.

"What?" asked Vince, secretly congratulating himself that she'd stopped glaring indiscriminately and closing doors harder than was necessary.

"Is there going to be a lot more of this weird bickering tonight? It's like attending a scholastic debate."

"Manny never shuts up. No one ever has any other choice than to talk about something when he's around. I figure it might as well be a subject that can make him as equally frustrated with the conversation as we are. "

"You're pointing the finger at me for your bore-a-thon?" Manny asked incredulously as he rejoined them.

Vince's lips twisted smugly. "Are you really going to stand there with a straight face and deny that you're happiest when you're being excessively pedantic?"

"We're both pedantic, but while you're sour and clubbish, I'm pleasantly gregarious," Manny declared as he mimed a thorough preening. "So of course, you pin me with the blame. You're full of youth-envy. It happens to men you're age…"

Stephanie's gasp indicated exactly how low that remark had been aimed.

"What happens," Vince scowled, "we actually develop ideas and opinions of our _own_ to share with others?"

It was clear to Stephanie that Vince had landed an as equally low blow as Manny had. "Well," she interjected in a rush to keep the peace, "why don't you share yours then instead of cutting down his?"

"Yeah," Manny gloated, "what she said."

Stephanie chuckled lightly, "or I know, why don't you tell another joke, Dangerfield? Your last one was so amusing. Maybe you've got one about boobs or farts this time? Manny would love to hear it."

Manny looked back and forth between them in confusion for a second. "Dude, I never said that."

"Fine," Vince responded to the challenge, a playful spark in his eye. "There was a cucumber, a pickle, and a penis sitting around talking about how their lives sucked. The cucumber said, 'Man, my life sucks. When I get big, fat, and juicy, they cut me up and stick me on a salad.' The pickle looks at him and says, 'You think you have it bad? When I get big, fat, and juicy, they stick me in vinegar, put spices on me, cram me in a jar, and leave me in the dark for a week.' The penis looks at him and says, 'You think you have it rough? When I get big, fat, and juicy, they wrap a rubber tarp around me, shove me in a dark room, and bang my head against the wall until I throw up and pass out'."

Despite herself, Stephanie released an involuntary titter, but Manny wasn't amused. "It's a good thing your day job pays well."

Vince raised a challenging eyebrow in Manny's direction.

Manny smirked and said, "Okay, I have one." He cleared his throat and began, "I grew up on a farm, and the next farm over had one of those classic, hot, farmer's daughters." His genuine smile belied his elevated chin and confident tone and told Stephanie that what was happening here wasn't genuine contempt at all. It seemed the two men had some kind of competitive rapport in which they thoroughly enjoyed – and more than likely only pretended – abhorring each other.

"This farmer's daughter had a donkey that she had raised from birth," Manny continued. "She used it to help her with the heavy work around the farm, but it was really abnormal and was always behaving strangely. It was more like a pet than livestock, and she loved it to pieces. Then one day our rooster got loose and ended up on their neighboring farm. That crazy donkey went berserk and attacked it. It ate our rooster whole and got really sick. They thought it might die. She was beyond distraught, heartbroken even. Every day for a week, people could hear her screaming and moaning all night long because my cock was in her ass."

Stephanie rolled her eyes. That was a long set up for virtually no pay-off. She wore a humorless smile and asked, "If your parents were farmers and you were a kid at the time, then technically it was your father's cock, wasn't it?"

Manny's jaw fell. "That is so wrong." He waved his tool-filled hands in a flashy, hazardous show of perturbation. "How exactly does a person come up with a thought that makes that joke sound wholesome in comparison and then decide it's a good idea to voice it aloud?"

Vince scoffed with a pretentious humor, "I don't ever want to find out how you define wholesome."

"It's not as hard as you'd expect," Stephanie ignored Vince's commentary and answered Manny's question, beginning to settle into the flow of their repartee. However temporary it turned out to be, she was comforted by the relative simplicity of her hands' task combined with the easy, inconsequential banter.

"Yeah, well," Manny said, "whatever dirty comment you have to follow up _that_ thought, just keep it to yourself." He pointed at her with a Phillips head. "You're well on your way to being as bad as Santos."

"Criticism from the walking audio book?" she taunted.

Manny and Vince halted their work and faced Stephanie. "Your turn now," Manny declared.

Stephanie actually took a step backwards. "My turn for what?" she asked, her curiosity struggling with her trepidation.

"A joke," Vince answered.

"Mm-hmm," Manny concurred, "let's hear what you've got."

Stephanie racked her brain, rather nervous that somehow she'd jumped from observer to participant in their strange contest. "Umm…" She only knew bad jokes, and not many of those. "Why are men bad drivers?" she offered. "Because they never check to see if anyone else is coming before they pull out."

Vince grinned and returned with, "What's the difference between sin and shame? It's a sin to push it in. And it's a shame to slip it out."

Stephanie chuckled, "I suddenly have the oddest feeling that I've been transported back in time to junior high school."

"What do a gynecologist and a pizza boy have in common?" Manny countered. "They can smell it but they can't eat it."

"Ugh," Stephanie groaned with a wrinkled nose, "that is so perverse."

"Then why are you smiling?" he asked with a satisfied quirk to his brow.

The men fell quiet and regarded Stephanie expectantly. She realized they were waiting for another joke from her. "The only others I know are children's jokes from my niece, one about parrots and all of the rest are about horses."

Vince curled his lip in disgust. "I hate parrots."

Her head tilted quizzically. "What could you possibly have against parrots?"

"You'd be surprised," was the sum total of Vince's explanation.

"A horse joke then…" Manny said, waving a hand at her to get on with it.

"Fine, fine, but then we're done with this," Stephanie insisted and waited for their nods of agreement. "What did the horse say when it fell? I've fallen and I can't giddy up. Okay, now? That's the end. Whatever this was, you won." Both men chuckled at her peevishness. "You can recite the encyclopedia from memory and I get my jokes from little girls' used popsicle sticks. No contest."

In deference to an obviously still tense Stephanie, Vince and Manny abandoned their excessive verbiage in favor of diligent progress and straight forward instructions. With their focus back on the job, they were finished and packing up the SUV in no time.

Manny was doing the rounds of the property and the final checks of the house while Vince and Stephanie waited outside, leaning against the SUV, arms folded in the classic RangeMan pose. Feeling every minute of the day catch up with her, Stephanie's attention turned to the sleep she desperately needed and her indecision about where she should go to find it. The idea of returning to RangeMan gave her pause for several reasons that tore at her relentlessly.

Vince saw her wince slightly when she unwittingly bit her lip with too much force. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I need sleep," she hesitated before adding, "…and sugar."

He didn't know what to say to that.

"Is Colt staying on the fourth floor at Haywood?" she asked.

"Yeah." Vince was caught off guard by the question, but not her response.

"He's a jackass."

"I know," Vince agreed, "he isn't shy about it."

"Has he been permanently reassigned to Trenton?" she asked trying to sound unconcerned.

Vince heard her concern anyway. "Don't know, but it's a good bet that if he has, he won't keep Haywood as his permanent address for very long."

Stephanie was too tired to decode what that meant. She tried to focus on something positive instead, but had only half-achieved it when her thoughts landed upon the fact that she'd never have to return to Papa G's debased clubhouse ever again. "Galucci's only waiting on us, you know," she said. "He doesn't want to get rid of Mancini until he finds the money. We're helping one man surmount the last obstacle stopping him from killing another man and we're turning a blind eye to the rest of this in order to do it."

Vince openned his mouth to speak twice with no result before his third attempt finally coalesced into a response. "That's one way to look at it. You could also say that we're helping someone recover his losses from a thief."

"Money that was ill-gotten by ill men with ill deeds."

Vince sighed and turned to face her. "If you want to look at it in black and white, right and wrong, then you have to consider who Mancini is too. Galucci isn't the only _bad guy_," he threw air quotes around the words. "Mancini is cheating on his wife and stealing from her."

Stephanie studied his face. "Is that how you look at it?"

Vince's frown deepened. He didn't think that his opinion should have any bearing on how she developed her own. "For jobs like this, RangeMan charges large fees. What we're doing here is earning the money for the resources we'll need when honest, decent people ask for our help to protect their homes and families. Security is an expensive business. Sure, RangeMan could pass on clients like Galucci and rely instead on corporate or government jobs to finance operations. They pay better. But those jobs have their own downsides."

"And this house?" she asked, trying to force him to divulge his thoughts about Galucci in particular, rather than the field of security in general.

"We're letting the proper authorities build their own case around what goes on here, one that will stand up in court."

She smiled at his talent for responding to simple questions with generalities as if she were making sweeping, topical inquiries. "So, the theme we keep coming up against is that in the interest of a greater good we occupy a vast expanse of grey? That's what I'm hearing." She was curious about his thoughts on this. He was older, more seasoned than most of the other Rangemen. While she'd heard Ranger vaguely describe his work from time to time, always couching it in mysterious terms that didn't truly define anything at all, what she had taken away from it was that the work was legally grey, but morally was always in the right. Now that she was officially invited to the party, she found that she was a wee bit more interested in hearing the details than she used to be.

Vince let out a harried groan. "You've already spent way too much time with Manny."

"I even know a quote," she laughed as he dodged yet another question and allowed him to steer the conversation in the direction of less weighty subjects. She gestured in Manny's direction, "is there a name for what's wrong with him?"

"He's a good kid, but he's weird." Vince playfully tsked, "he has the potential to be a really bad influence, Steph. Don't let him get to you."

"I only have the one quote," she recalled with a smile. "I remember it from an old map my grandfather had. I used to look at it with him when I was a kid and he'd make up stories about different faraway places."

Manny returned at that moment, "what about faraway places?"

She waved her hand signaling the unimportance of that part and recited, "'Anguish of suspense made men even desire the arrival of enemies'. [*5] That's the only one I got." They both stared at her with an intensity Stephanie wasn't used to, couldn't begin to decipher, and made her uncomfortable. So she tried to ignore it. "Can I ask to go my own way from here? Can you let me have one of the trucks and log out for me when you get back to Haywood?"

They both nodded. Stephanie felt a wash of relief that her decision about returning to Haywood could be postponed a while longer. She said goodnight and made to leave, only to be stopped by Vince at the last second before pulling away. "Stephanie," he called out, "Galucci wouldn't risk wiring this house so that we could find grounds for divorce if he was just going to off the guy." And on that note, they parted company.

As the Rangemen headed off in the opposite direction, Manny asked, "what was that about?"

Vince was quiet for a moment, contemplating the night's conversations with Stephanie. He had been hesitant about working with her. Originally, he'd wagered that it wouldn't go well at all. She'd be capable enough, but not entirely up to snuff for RangeMan work. There would be general disruption and stress at the company for some time while everyone came to terms with that fact, and then she'd go back to doing client searches and working for her cousin. But now that he had one of their scheduled shifts together under his belt, he had a better understanding of what Tank's reasons might have been for hiring her. She was a thinker, both instinctually perceptive and unconventionally intelligent. More intriguing than anything else, though, was his realization that she was even more unsure about the entire situation than the Rangemen were. "She can't decide if we're the good guys or not," he answered.

Manny frowned angrily at Vince for voicing that thought. "You aren't helping anything," he said testily.

**A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**

[*1 - Michel De Montaigne, _Our emotions get carried away beyond us_ ] [*2 - Samuel Johnson, _The Rambler No. 5_ ] [*3 - John Ruskin ] [*4 - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, _The Day Is Done_ ] [*5 - Guy de Maupassant, _Boule de Suif_ ]

** A/N: This chapter was utterly self-indulgent. I know. I considered cutting it entirely for a very long time and then finally decided that I just liked it too much. It's long-winded and offers barely an inch of plot movement, but it was also my favorite to write. So I decided to keep it, even if it turns out that I am the _only_ one who likes it. **


	26. Chapter 26

Author – PinPin  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (some originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterisk are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter 26**

Steam rose from the gutters of quiet streets and night hung high above the city threatening snow and ice. The drive to my apartment was quick. I pulled into my lot and felt that familiar inkling of relief that starts to spread upwards from my toes to the top of my spine whenever I know I'm only a minute from finally returning home after a long day. A detour at the mailbox and a short elevator ride were all that stood between me and the silent, secure sanctuary of my kitchen.

"Hi. How's it going?" I greeted Rex as I reset my alarm behind me. He peeked out from his soup can at the sound of my voice. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?" He blinked up at me twice, which was hamster for 'no.' I think. I dropped a grape in his dish. He finally emerged and sniffed it twice before stuffing it into his cheek and retreating.

"Hey, come back; I need to talk to you." I didn't expect a reply, which happened to be fortunate since I didn't get one. "I know it's late and it's been a while. I'm sorry. I've been busy. Are you really that mad at me? I have a good excuse." I bent down to Rex's eye level on the counter and plunked my chin on my folded hands.

"You like Ranger don't you?" I sighed. The only response from Rex was another twitch of his rear end at the mouth of the soup can. "Does he ever talk to you?" I asked, but if they did ever chat, Rex was keeping it to himself.

"He bought you treats when he went shopping, you know?" I dropped one of the little yogurt bites into his dish and he darted out of his can to inhale it. Instead of retreating, he gazed up at me for a second, waiting for another morsel. "I bet you think I should forgive him, but he was kind of a jerk earlier." Rex didn't seem all that sympathetic, though. He scurried back to his can and ignored me.

"He came to dinner tonight. He talked to dad and even kissed me at my parents' house. Then all of a sudden he wants to know if I'm going to marry Joe."

I thought back to all of the times Ranger had questioned me about Joe in the past and realized that he never had. Not only had he never outright asked me about Joe before, but the subject had very rarely come up at all. Joe was the opposite. Joe always had a lot of concerns about Ranger. The subject seemed to come up all the time.

"I don't understand him, I told Rex. "This morning was so different. He wanted me to stay at his place tonight." I gave him another yogurt bite. This time he didn't immediately scurry back to his can, but sat staring out at me. His whiskers twitched and he fluffed up the bedding around him. "That is a good point," I said. "Forgiving him would mean I'd get to stay the night over there. I really should be there; he came right out and invited me and I told him I would."

I remembered how I'd admitted to Mary Lou that I avoided conflict, but assured her that I wouldn't hide from it. And I'd defensively told Lula that I didn't run away from people. I'd been quick to deny that accusation, because I knew how true it was. I'd even shouted it at Ranger, told him that when it really mattered, I never hid from him. _Do I really go through life wearing blinders?_

"Plus, I guess I should give him a chance to finish the argument," I conceded to Rex. "I did sort of run away again." Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what I'd fled from this time. _What _exactly_ had we even been arguing about?_ "Sometimes I think I'll never understand him."

Giving up on the prospect of more treats, Rex turned tail, did a scurrying circuit around his can and then returned once again to his tin sanctuary. "Okay. You're right, you're right, you're right," I told him. "I'll never find out if it's possible if I don't even try."

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Enough time had passed for my eyes to fully adjust to the darkness of my bedroom, but there was nothing there to see. I didn't know what had made me think I'd be able to sleep anyway.

I'd stayed in the garage long enough to watch Stephanie climb into the truck and slam the door shut behind her; the glow of taillights that flashed a red brilliance in her wake, faded quickly in her absence. If it wouldn't have been wildly inappropriate, I'd have held her back or gone after her. But it wasn't an option. It would undermine her position amongst the other men and only prove to her that I needed to control everything, including her. I didn't need ESP to know that with the state she was in when she left, it would take her a long time to forgive me for that.

I tossed and turned in bed, thoughts of Stephanie making it feel larger than usual.

In the same night, within a matter of hours, I'd been told that regardless of what or how I tried, there was nothing I could do to protect Stephanie _and_ that one of the most dangerous threats she would ever face had come to Trenton. I could spend every second with her, day and night, and still be unable to deter every menace. I could buy her a million vests and force her to arm herself tooth and nail, but what good would it do if Casper made headshots? One bullet, one fraction of a second, would be all it would take.

I gave up on rest and fetched a glass of water, my eyes avoiding her spare boots near the door, the empty counter space, the half eaten jar of olives alongside her mother's leftovers in the refrigerator.

Vagaries and impassivity aside, Frank Plum didn't mince words. He came to the point. I appreciated that. I knew men like him and I had a base level respect for them all – barrel-chested men who had charged the front lines in dirty, frantic battles. Technology had changed military service in the intervening years. I'd seen some grim, twisted shit with the Rangers, but most of it had been a different sort of combat. Plum was old school. He was a man who had trudged through the mud and blood with a paper map and book of matches. There was something about him, however, that inspired more respect than most, and it had nothing to do with his service record. It was the way he'd held my eye, unflinchingly claiming his role and wearing his pride in having raised a woman of Stephanie's strength.

He'd called me a fool and he was probably right. _What had possessed me to ask Stephanie about Morelli?_ I saw her with the vest in her hand, heading out on the job. She was perfect, but somehow it was also wrong. Something came over me and I pushed. Hard. Harder than I'd thought I could push her. And when her anger surged to fight off her confusion and panic, she'd turned to flee and I pushed harder still. It made me physically ill, but if she was going to get away from Casper, she would need to get away from us. Lately she'd only been getting closer and closer. Too close. Tank was seriously considering telling her his real name and I found myself daydreaming about whether or not it'd be possible to add more closet space to my apartment. My mind would wander against my will and imagine what she'd look like standing in the middle of the 'Batcave' and how it'd measure up against her expectations. I guessed at how she'd react if I told her the whole story about Celia and introduced them to each other. What would she say if she learned everything about my ex-wife? My daughter? My uncle? I wondered whether her children would turn out like Mary Alice.

I switched on the light in my office and carried my files out to the living room. The minutes from my last briefing with our weapons suppliers needed to be reviewed prior to our semiannual meeting which was scheduled for later in the week. I needed to be rested, focused, and prepared for the renegotiations. But that was easier said than done. My thoughts disobediently circled Stephanie and left very little room for anything else to get through.

As consumed as I was with securing Stephanie's safety through added distance, it was impossible to ignore the fact that my behavior was truly governed by a selfish desperation to have her near me, if only to feel her presence. If I wanted to be honest with myself, I had to admit that I'd asked about Morelli because I wanted to know where she stood with him. I wanted it spelled out for me. I wanted an end to the second guessing and confusion. I needed to witness her reaction. I needed to know how she felt. But my own fears always held back the torrent of questions at the last second and silenced me before I could bring myself to ask them. _What if I didn't like the answers?_ There was more than one way to lose her. [*024]

Glancing at the clock, I estimated that her shift should be wrapping up sometime soon. It was a routine assignment for which every Rangeman had been frequently responsible. Even Stephanie would have a hard time creating complications. But I was still uneasy. It was a familiar feeling by now. The twist in my gut, the heat creeping through my chest, the twitch in my hands; it was this feeling that had finally forced me to admit to myself that Stephanie was already more to me than I'd planned, that I was in danger of falling for her. By now she was too unsettling to deny. I was in love with her. I wasn't just attracted to her anymore. I needed her.

In the years since I'd enlisted I'd known only professional success, from boot to chief in record time, and then to private sector bigwig. I shared fidelity with my men and found satisfaction in my work. I knew who I was and where my life was headed. I'd found balance. What was so damn troubling about Stephanie was that she made me sorry for it. Slowly, unnoticed at first and then more dramatically, she'd chipped away at my carefully laid foundation and gave me small glimpses, tiny tastes, of all that I'd forgone. Stephanie made me _want_.

I abandoned my bottle of water for a glass of something old, gold, and a lot stronger. I was battling the urge to check on her, to call and ask if she was planning to come back. Hell, I'd beg her to come back if I had to. The dread that we'd fall into some kind of on/off pattern of our own roiled in my veins and the uncertainty was killing me.

A joke. That was how she'd described her engagement to Morelli. _A bad joke?_ He'd never proposed and she'd never planned to marry him. So she was just kidding when she told me they were engaged? Was it a joke when she went dress shopping with her mother and the punch line was kissing me and telling me that she wanted to sleep together but couldn't because of a moral dilemma? Well, I wasn't laughing. And neither had Morelli. I could easily believe that he'd stay with her even if it was clear to him that the engagement wasn't serious. Time and again, through all the fights and break ups, he hadn't given up on her and I couldn't fault the man for that. That's essentially what I've been doing for years, taking what I can, when I can, and accepting the reality that there was no 'happily ever after' in store for us.

I'd never expected to grow old and content, surrounded by loved ones. The family I'd once known was lost to me years ago. A solitary existence was the accepted consequence of the choices, and mistakes, I'd made. And a violent life, such as the one I'd chosen, more often than not, ends in violence. I wasn't naïve enough to suppose I would be an exception to that fate. I'd known very few people who were. Vina had fallen to it, as had countless others. I didn't need to know the details of her death to know that she, and everyone working with her, had risked it all for the mission. And she'd lost, the circumstances keeping her isolated from her loved ones, even in death – her name blacked out in reports, her service swathed in official denials, her sacrifice redacted. I hadn't thought about her in ages, not until Tank mentioned her name. I hadn't worried or even been curious enough to inquire after her, and all the while Tank and Lester had been walking around, harbingers of the silenced truth. What that must have been doing to Lester these past years was unthinkable. I finally understood what had made him withdraw his participation from international contract work. It was no wonder he couldn't stomach it anymore. _Who was I to ask anyone to put up with that type of uncertainty for me?_

The clock in the wall continued to tick off the passing minutes. And I sat silent and solitary. Without Stephanie. I'd finally stopped glancing at the door. It was late and I should have been in bed.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Returning to the tiny apartment, she made certain that the other units on her floor were still vacant. Neighbors were always idiots without a clue about what was happening as little as one room away, but they could be nosy idiots and for some reason juries always thought they made credible witnesses. And she couldn't abide witnesses. [*025]

She locked the door behind her and pulled out her gun. Her eyes tracked their usual pattern across the simple room, sweeping over every detail, cataloging any changes. There were none tonight.

She set the gun down within reach and faced the mirror behind the door to survey the image, so unlike her natural reflection. She liked this one though, more than many of the others she'd tried out in the past. It was a shame she had no choice but to change it now. Someday, in another town, she'd recreate it again.

She snapped open a garbage bag and stuffed her jacket inside. Her top and skirt were next, followed by bra, panties, shoes, and gloves. Pulling the long fall from her own hair, she inspected it and frowned when she found dried red traces of the night's events tangled in one of the curls. Everything was added to the bag, which was then tagged for incineration and stowed in the corner. Next, a Delaware state I.D. for Wanda Klein went into an ashtray and bubbled under flame until it was a burned and melted unrecognizable wad of plastic and ashes.

In the bathroom, she unzipped her kit and unpacked a collection of soaps and cleansers. She plucked golden lens from her eyes revealing a soft celadon that didn't match the bloodshot whites, which aged her sleep deprived stare. Her false eyelashes were next, then the false nails, polish, and glue as she stepped under the hot spray of the shower, washing away the visible remnants of her filthy work.

But the thrill of it remained on her skin, curled the corners of her lips, and pumped through her veins in a familiar rush of excitement. The buzz she got from those moments of absolute power over another person would linger with her all night – the power to end a man's existence in the space between breaths or turn away and grant him a reprieve he'd never even known he needed.

The temporary hair dye bled into the splashing water. She watched the ochre suds swirling around her feet and slipping away, down the drain, until the color began to pale and her reflection looked familiar. Stepping out of the water, the faint, pale shine of tight scars flashed across her back as she wrapped towels around herself and tied back her hair.

As she air-dried at the tiny table against the wall opposite the window, her work was spread out before her. She checked bus routes and schedules, was lucky enough to find an old Photo Hut that was listed in the phonebook but nowhere on the internet, and scouted out local maps for alleyways near the rail line that had through traffic access. Last of all, before she'd allow sleep, she worked a thin, diamond roughened file into the barrel of the gun she'd used earlier that night, and then proceeded to clean and inventory each of her weapons, piece by piece.

**A/N: Thank you for readi****ng! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.  
><strong>[*024 : Kerli – Bulletproof ] [*025 : A Perfect Circle – Counties Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of War Drums]


	27. Chapter 27

Author – PinPin  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (some originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterisk are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter 27**

Once I'd made my mind up to spend what was left of the night with Ranger at Haywood, I almost as quickly considered changing it again.

While Vince and Manny had spent the majority of their night aggressively pontificating in their strange secret language, in my moments of distraction I had been floating between thoughts of Casper's identity, Heidi's whereabouts, and how smug Mickey Maglio was going to be when he got the chance to give me shit because my fingerprints were _everywhere_ both inside and outside of Heidi's house. The more I thought about it the more I felt the itch of the unknowns and my inactivity. The restlessness began to chase away my fatigue and suddenly I wasn't as desperate for sleep as I'd been merely ten minutes earlier.

I wanted to clean up my own mess before the others knew anything about it, but I wasn't sure that was possible at this point. This was something from which I couldn't run. There was no way to get around the fact that I'd have to tell them about it eventually, but maybe I could see to it that when I did tell them, it wouldn't include a plea for help bailing me out of yet another jam.

As my car pulled up to the corner at Alcott during the drive to Haywood, I let it idle for a moment. I'd replayed my search of the house countless times in my head, but I knew that there were things I was missing. All I wanted to do was have a look. I'd taken many things from the house, but I'd only left one behind; bullets. And it scared me that I'd overlooked them until now. Another neglected detail, like the keys to Big Blue at Stiva's house.

I paused and listened to the turn signal click, click, click as I looked down the dark quiet street. A week earlier, it wouldn't have even occurred to me to think twice, so as I made the turn and forged ahead, I wondered why I even bothered with it now, since it didn't change the outcome any. I was still going to Heidi's to check what sort of hole I might have dug for myself.

My mind strayed to Ranger for a moment – and his apartment and his bed – and I promised myself that this would be a very quick stop, a few moments really. I just wanted to see the scene for myself. This detour had nothing to do with avoiding Ranger for as long as humanly possible. Nope. Not at all.

As my foot touched down on the dew frosted pavement, my headlights cut off and I stopped, bathed in the thick haze of night, halfway out of the car. The air seemed so calm, yet it shouted to my nerves, insisting that I was alone. Sliding back into my seat, I reached for my vest and my belt. I should have had them on already, not tossed them on the passenger seat.

I slipped in the back gate as I had the last time. There was still yellow police tape hung throughout the property and to my consternation, a crime scene seal was affixed across each of the doors and windows. There wasn't much for me to see after all. I moved around to the side yard and used my small flashlight to check the grass. I remembered exactly where Casper and I had both stood, or in his case, knelt. How far into the dirt would a bullet be buried if shot at that angle from that distance? I bent down to look.

Without even enough time to think about what I was doing, I heard the far off scuff of a shoe on the driveway behind me and had my gun in my hand. I popped up and jumped to the side, drawing down a steady bead on the dark figure that appeared, as equally armed and steady as I.

"Bit late for a stroll, isn't it?" the shadow spoke.

"Shit, Robin!" I exclaimed and lowered my gun to point unthreateningly downwards.

Robin Russell stepped out of the darkness. She kept her gun trained on me one handed while she held out her other hand to me. "Gun, Steph," she demanded with a beckoning wave. "Now."

I flipped on the safety and handed the gun over to her by the barrel. "Geez, think twice would you. I'm in full gear here," I said, gesturing to my vest, slightly breathless at the thought that I'd nearly shot the policewoman.

Robin ejected the magazine from my gun and checked the chamber. "Should I be on the lookout for the rest of your unit, or is this a solo mission?" she asked as she handed my weapon back. She waited to put her own weapon away until I'd reholstered mine and zipped up the ammunition into my vest pockets.

"I just got off work," I explained my outfit to her.

"Oh, that's right, you keep odd hours don't you?" she asked, mocking my statements from earlier in the day.

"What are you doing here?"

She raised her eyebrows in amusement and hooked her thumbs onto her belt. "You're the one who pulled a gun on a cop at a crime scene, so I'm the one who asks the questions. What are _you_ doing here?"

_Yeah right, like I'd tell her_. "I don't have to answer you."

"And I don't have to let you off with a warning for threatening an officer of the peace with a deadly weapon."

I blew out a sigh of defeat, "I was just passing by."

Robin cocked her head to the side considering my answer and looking every inch the cop. "Do you pass by here often?"

I couldn't hold back one small laugh, "Yeah, every time I drive down this street."

"And is that often?" she fired back at me. "Is it secretly, late at night, after work?"

"No."

"Look, Steph," Robin said and bowed her head for a second before continuing, "I know you've heard the rumors about me."

"I don't put much stock in rumors," I cut her off. People said a lot of things about Robin when she'd first joined the force. Most of it faded away years ago, but some seemed to hang around like a small, stubborn cobweb that never fails to return after each time you've cleared it away. I could empathize.

"I know you don't," she said. "I've always liked that about you. But some people do and even though none of it's true, it sticks to me. I'm a cop and I get shit from people all the time. So I get it."

I pulled a face. _Get what?_

Robin took a deep breath and explained, "I get it if you didn't want to announce for the record and your lawyer and Maglio that you're close to Heidi. I get that. But you can tell me."

I didn't understand what she was talking about, but I suddenly had the strangest sensation that there wasn't enough air in the room. Only... we were outside. "There's nothing to tell," I said.

"If you couldn't get a hold of her, of course you'd worry," Robin said with a poorly faked sincerity, as if she wanted me to know she believed the opposite of her words. "So you came over. She was missing and there was a strange man here."

She was talking with her hands now, gesturing at this and that, making me nervous enough to take a step back to get some distance and a better look at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You restrained the guy, but you couldn't let anyone know that you were here, so you sent him off in a cab. It makes sense. The way people gossip about you, I can understand why you did it. You couldn't take any risk that someone would find out about the affair."

I think people in the next state could hear the thud as my chin hit the ground. "What?"

"There's nothing wrong with that," she said in too sweet and understanding a tone. "It would be exculpatory. She gave you a key or something right, for your late night visits? That would mean you had her permission to be here. It would make it self defense."

Slowly, the pieces started to fit together in my head.

_"Are the two of you very close?"  
><em>_"But she knew you were coming? This was a planned get together?"  
><em>_"She's your __**friend**__, Stephanie, isn't she?"_

Holy crap on a kabob! Was she seriously going to go there? After the way people talked about her? "I'm not having an affair with Heidi," I declared.

"Steph," she still had that false understanding in her expression, "I don't have to say anything about it. Just come up with another legitimate reason that you have a key and were here that night. You know Heidi. Can't you think of any other reason she might have given it to you?"

"Are you crazy? I don't have keys to this house!"

"We've already interviewed Heidi's friends. They knew about the relationship. She told all of them that she was in love but couldn't give anyone details about it yet because her lover was well-known and closeted for a good reason. They know she's protective because she loves you. That part isn't a secret."

"This is ridiculous!" I gasped. I couldn't process the fact she was saying all of this. It didn't make sense. "No one is going to believe you." Then I remembered the photo album I'd taken from the house. Those recent photographs would be the best link to the true identity of Heidi's lover and my best bet for offering solid proof that it was some woman other than me. Except the police couldn't know that and I couldn't tell them either, because those pictures were all still packed away in the trunk of Lester's Targa with the rest of the stolen loot. And I knew at least enough not to attempt to allay the suspicion that I commited one crime by producing solid evidence that I'd commited another.

"Come on, why lie about it?" Robin coaxed. "Did you really think that we wouldn't eventually come around to it and figure everything out? You had to know that we'd go through the house and find something. Not to mention _your_ life. The big picture fits and makes it so clear. How many months did your marriage to Dickie Orr last? Three if we round up? How many years of rocky non-commitment with Morelli? Remind me, is it once or twice that you've broken off your engagement to him? And now the two of you are on the outs again just as Heidi goes missing. Plus, you're one of the tough guys at RangeMan, uniform and all. You can see how it looks."

I realized with a growing, tingling kind of horror that Robin had asked all of those original questions about Heidi and I on the record at the station. She'd put the idea that there was a substantial relationship between us into the official record of their interview with me. And I – with my lawyer present – hadn't contradicted it. Now if she added these circumstantial, social insinuations too… "You're a cop! You do a _man's job_," I threw angry, disbelieving air quotes around the words. "That doesn't make _you_ a lesbian. And I don't need to be married to Joe to have a sexual relationship with him."

"And what, it's impossible for you to keep up appearances, to have sex with Joe but be secretly in love with someone else?"

I didn't know it was possible for someone be so right and so wrong at the same time. "I was not having an affair with Heidi, I'm not a lesbian, and I don't have to talk to you." I was about to leave when she pulled an evidence bag out of her pocket and held it up for me to see.

"I know why you're here right now. It's for these right?" Robin asked me.

It was two spent bullets. And they looked very familiar. "I've never seen those," I claimed immediately.

"If I test these against your gun are the ballistics going to match?"

_How many times in one night could she sucker punch a person without so much as a flinch of guilt?_ "You bitch," I accused. "You startled me on purpose to get a look at my gun, didn't you?"

Robin actually laughed. "You shouldn't fight this. There's going to be an investigation. Just give me the gun voluntarily."

I wanted to scratch her eyes out. "This is a RangeMan issued weapon. I can't give it up without a warrant, as if I ever would."

"We're going to investigate you and I'll get a warrant."

"Go ahead and get it then," I half snapped and half hissed. I had barely a drop of respect left for her by that point.

I'd turned around and taken the first few angry steps away from her when she said in a low, flat, uncompromising tone, "for every Sig in RangeMan's inventory."

My blood turned to ice. I spun around again as I choked, "you can't do that."

"You said it yourself," she said lightly, "the company issues your weapons. The only way to find out which gun you had that night is to check each and every one." Her smile was like poison. "And don't doubt for a second that there are scores of people in Trenton who have been waiting years for the opportunity to serve a warrant to Manoso. Just work with me and that won't be necessary. This doesn't have to be about RangeMan at all."

My fists and throat clenched painfully. "Are you saying you're going to accuse me of assault on Casper Truth based on the motive that I was having an alleged sexual relationship with Heidi Stokes and then use that as an excuse to investigate RangeMan?" The enitre thing was so surreal.

She shrugged. "Unless I have some other lead to follow." Slipping her hands in her pockets, she rocked on her heels. "If I had some other information to go on I could pursue other avenues of – "

"Damn detective!" I furiously interrupted. "Police threats and coercive doublespeak? That's beyond the pale, even for me."

"I'm just voicing a working theory. If you want to suggest another one, I'm listening."

"What makes you think you'll get away with this?"

"What made you think that you could go on forever picking and choosing which laws you want to obey?" She folded her arms at me in a superior, indignant pose.

"Oh, that's rich," I smiled humorlessly, "the friendly supportive shoulder in one breath, coercion in the next, and now topped off with the high and mighty routine."

"The entire northern hemisphere knows you're a criminal, Stephanie. So spare me."

"I'm not a criminal."

"All of you over at Vinnie's are. RangeMan is practically a criminal organization. Just because money and connections see to it that everyone overlooks your crimes doesn't mean you didn't commit them. I wouldn't know where to begin listing the offenses. Interfering with a police investigation? Assaulting a Federal agent with a deadly weapon? Arson? Making false statements and filing fraudulent police reports? And that's just the past several days. News flash Stephanie, you've all still broken the law, even if you got away with it."

She sounded like Joe, only serious. All of those complaints he always had… she made them sound real. Fear started to overtake some of my anger. "And you're willing to overlook things too; you just won't do it for nothing. Is that it?" This was a side of Robin I hadn't known existed.

"Maglio is at the bit for this guy and he doesn't care what happens to you. I'm doing you a favor here."

"A favor?" I nearly shouted. "This was your plan to help me, ambush me in the dark? Gee, thanks, your entrapment is a godsend."

"It only worked because you're here. If you weren't personally involved, sneaking around in the dark, tonight would have been very cold, lonely, and disappointing for me. But here you are, red-handed. How is that in any way my fault?"

My body had gone completely still, no longer even shivering from the night cold. _God, she was right_. I'd walked right into this. I'd gone and created the mess, and now instead of cleaning it up, I was just spreading it around.

"Oh well," she smirked at my temporary paralysis. "How bad could it be? If you didn't commit a crime than eventually you'll be cleared. And if RangeMan hasn't done anything wrong, then it isn't like it'll go out of business over one little scandal. Look on the bright side. Once it all blows over you'll be out of the closet and won't have to hide anymore. Everyone will find out at once. You'll be free to be yourself."

I hit her. I'd never been one to start fights. I was always more of a 'flight' sort of personality, but in that moment I snapped. I hauled back and threw a right cross that even shocked the hell out of me.

Robin staggered back, out of reach. She caught her balance with her feet spread, defense wand in her hand at the ready. She was a good cop and had a cop's reflexes. Her hand went to her nose and came away with a small stain of dark, blood on her fingers. When she reached for her cuffs, my hand went straight to my own belt. There were a lot of goodies on it, including my own set of cuffs.

"I could arrest you for assault," she said.

"Try it, and I'll assault the shit out of you."

"I'll take you in right now, and your gun."

"No you won't," I stated. From somewhere inside of me I couldn't recognize or justify, came a surge of confidence. "I can't help you if I'm locked up and I think you're desperate for the help. Aren't you?"

Her gaze and voice turned ice cold and I knew my taunt had pushed her too far as she recited, "Stephanie Plum, I'm placing you under arrest for assaulting an officer. You have the right – "

"I have the right to tell the whole world why I hit you in the first place," I cut her off with an angry snarl.

But she smiled back with a twisted twinkle of amusement, "what, that you panicked when you realized you'd be outted?"

"For fuck's sake, Robin," I launched myself at her and got a hold of the front of her shirt. "I'm not lying about being gay!" I pushed her back against the side of the house and pinned her there. "I'm in love with Ranger," I shouted and then shuddered at the sudden exposure which I hadn't planned but couldn't stop now that it was done. "I should be in his bed right now, but instead I'm here, jeopardizing his company and fucking up his life because I can't stop thinking about this." I pulled her away from the wall and shoved her back again with a massive shake, as startled as she was by the sounds of the back of her head thumping against the siding and her teeth clicking. "I can't get the picture of Heidi's dead body in a ditch out of my head!"

Robin broke my hold on her, pressing her defense wand into my forearm with a fierce strength that twisted my hands away and bent my posture. I stumbled slightly. Some of my anger drained and I felt renewed worry bubbling in the back of my throat. "I can't stop replaying the sick way Casper smiled and winked at me," I told her, "and wondering if it was the last thing she ever saw."

She stared at me like I was a stranger, a suspect, a threat. The last sliver of the familiar Robin that I'd been friendly with disappeared. "Then help me nail him and make him pay for what he's done," she said.

I wanted to spit at her and pull her hair. "You don't have any clue who he is _or_ what he's done," I shouted. She was every bit the stranger to me as she alluded I was to her. This was a Robin I'd never known. "If you did, you wouldn't be talking to me. Don't pretend you're doing this for anyone other than yourself. The bright new detective who cracks the big case all the veteran men can't get a handle on. This is so perfect for you isn't it, to have me under your thumb no matter what the reason? It doesn't matter to you if I'm doing this to get justice for Heidi or cover my ass or stop rumors about my sexuality or protect RangeMan or retaliate against Casper, just as long as you get credit for it."

"Look, I can only hold off Maglio for so long, so I'll make this simple for you." She straightened out the front of her shirt and stowed away her evidence and weapon. "In twenty four hours, if I don't have some other lead to follow, you're it. And whatever it is that you _are_ trying to hide, we're going to find." She turned and left like she was walking a victory lap.

"Robin," I called after her and waited for her to stop and face me, "if you log those bullets into evidence it's over. I'll report you and face the consequences. You won't get a single thing from me about this or any other case." She didn't answer me and I took a menacing step forward. "I'm never going to forget this. When you threatened RangeMan you stepped in something you can't ever scrape off."

Robin didn't appear bothered by the fact. "You'll hear from me. Clock's ticking," she took her leave with righteous confidence, an unwavering Nemesis in the flesh.

Lost to all but the sight of her retreating back, I couldn't recall finding my way back to the truck. Gobsmacked and inert, I sat behind the wheel, stagnant beneath the crushing weight of yet another failure. Every move I'd made had turned out to be the wrong one. I couldn't go on any longer believing I had bad luck. I wasn't a magnet for trouble. I was a catalyst. I yanked at the straps on my vest and tossed it away. _How could I claim that this wasn't my fault t__his time when I knew perfectly well that it was?_

I managed not to cry while I drove, but as I got closer to RangeMan, it was more and more difficult to hold back the flood. I was dreading the reactions I would get when I finally came clean to Tank about my circumstances. So far it felt like I'd done nothing but disappoint him. The only thought worse than that was the idea that I'd disappoint Ranger. Compared to that, our earlier argument seemed like nothing at all. If it was only for a second, I wanted it all to fade away and just kiss him before reality returned with the morning to reveal all of my homegrown catastrophes.

Like a moron, I still hesitated even as I stood staring at Ranger's door. It was an ungodly hour, all my reserves were tapped, and my head was clouded with fatigue. I wanted to be near him so badly by that point, I'd suffer almost anything for it. I turned the knob, refusing to waste any more time thinking about it. The lights were on as I entered and I was surprised to look up through the apartment to find Ranger awake. He sat on the sofa, hunched with his elbows on his knees and his head bent over some paperwork spread out before him on the hassock. My mouth went dry. He was in only his boxers, his hair loose, and on the table beside him there was a tumbler with only melting ice left in it.

"Of course you're still up," I said.

His head lifted sharply, his shock evident. "Babe." [*026]

_Had I surprised him?_ It gave me another moment of pause. "I know you haven't forgotten that you asked me to stay. Have you changed your mind?"

"No," he said, glancing at the clock as he stood. "But I didn't think you'd come."

More at ease, hearing his casual, honest tone, I stepped fully into the apartment and dropped my things on the table. "Why wouldn't I?" I shucked my coat and kicked off my boots. "Because you're an ass? That's old news, Ranger." I looked up in time to see his brow furrow, and explained, "since I'm an ass too, it's never really kept me away for very long before has it?"

There were a thousand things that I wanted to say to him, but not a single word of explanation came to me. I couldn't fathom where to begin. The energy in the room was charged with the unspoken and our silent attempts to read one another's thoughts. He dropped the papers and pen he was holding onto his seat, took a step in my direction, and a gentle, "Stephanie" escaped his lips. He looked like he was having trouble deciding where to begin as well.

"I don't know about you," I said, before he could get too close, wearing only his boxers, and derail my senses completely, "but I've had a very, very long day, and all I want to do right now is sleep, for a very, very long time." I forced myself not to look away from his piercing gaze. He was unguarded and uncertain and it threw me. "Will you come to bed?" I asked and felt a ripple of something halfway between excitement and solace flow through me as I heard the intimate invitation spill from my own lips.

"Two minutes," he answered with a glance back at the littering of pages he'd abandoned.

I nodded and went ahead of him to the bedroom. I saw the wrinkled bedding and crumpled pillow. He'd been tossing around in the bed at some point, but only on one side of it. Changing in the bathroom I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My exhaustion was written all over my face. I looked and felt like crap, tired enough that I didn't truly even care at that point.

The apartment was dark and Ranger was back in bed when I emerged. Every muscle rejoiced as I slid in beside him. I exhaled and with my breath went every tension, worry, and coherent thought. His arms greeted me as they always did and I met them gratefully.

"Babe," he murmured.

"Shhh, no talking."

"Babe."

"_SSShhhhhh_."

He was still for a moment. Then he swept my hair back and kissed my temple, whispering against my ear, "we can't keep avoiding it forever."

I knew he was right, but no matter which of the dozen _it_'s he could possibly be referring to, that moment wasn't the right time or place to have the conversation. "There were two parrots sitting on a perch," I spoke into his chest. "One turned to the other and said, 'do you smell fish'?" It had oddly popped into my head and suddenly sounded like the most apropos thing in the world to say.

But Ranger didn't find my parrot joke amusing. He grasped my chin and forced me to look at him. The naked vulnerability behind his hooded lids and in the parting of his lips spread gooseflesh all the way to my toes.

"I know," I told him. I folded my fingers through his and touched my lips to the palm of the hand that had held my chin. "I know, just not now. I can't describe the day I've had." I brushed a kiss across his lips, then his throat, his chest. "I'll still be right here when we wake up." I knew that the next morning would be very different from the last. Pulling his arm around behind me and burying myself in his embrace, I whispered, "please, let's just sleep."

**A/N: Thank you for readi****ng! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.  
><strong>*A/N: I want to extend my appreciation to everyone who reveiwed and alerted. You keep me going, even when I've slowed to a snail's pace. I'm sorry for the wait. Next Chapter in one week.*  
>[*026 : Bird York – In The Deep]<p> 


	28. Chapter 28

Author – PinPin  
><span>Rating<span> – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)  
><span>Disclaimer<span> – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (some originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.  
><span>Notes<span> – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterisk are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.

**Stephanie Redux – Chapter ****28**

I was still tossing around in bed, trying to squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep, when I heard Ranger return. He'd risen at the ass crack of dawn to work out, leaving that giant, soft as a cloud bed all to me for a solo lie-in. It was after nine when he came through the bedroom door like he was stepping off the pages of a beefcake calendar; shirtless, low slung sweats, messy hair, and glistening, rippling muscles. _Good morning, Hungarian hormones_.

"You're staring."

"I know," I said, unembarrassed. I was just satisfied with myself that I'd managed not to drool. "There's a lot to see."

He walked over and I pulled him even closer by the towel that was draped around his neck. I gave him a quick kiss, expecting him to press for more, but he held back, far more closed off than he'd seemed as we'd drifted off to sleep. "Seems like you had a good workout. How very manly and…" I reached up and coiled a thin section of his limp, sweat-damp hair around a finger. "gross."

"Gross?" he repeated, obviously expecting to hear something else.

I gave a valiant effort to hold back my smile, but it proved too difficult a task for me. "Did _I_ say gross? _No_, I don't think so. You heard wrong. I said _sexy_. That's what I was thinking. Very sexy. Double sexy, in fact."

The light in Ranger's eye turned predatory and he leaned in as if to kiss my neck, but as his lips touched my skin, his sweaty, clamy hair and shoulder also made ample contact as he nuzzled against my face and neck far, far more than was necessary.

"Don't," I whined laughingly, as surprised by his sudden playfulness as he'd been by my teasing.

"Nothing a shower can't fix."

What a thought, Ranger's shower… with Ranger in it. "Now you didn't intend for that to sound like an invitation, did you?"

His reply was light, next to my ear, and snapped what little there was of my restraint to tiny pieces. "It was a slip of the tongue," he said.

_Holy Multiple Pulsing Massage Settings, Batman!_ I ran my fingers through that wet hair of his and got a firm grip on it to steer him into another kiss, this one deep and hot. I tried to pull him down into the bed with me, but since he was holding himself up and away, it was more like I was lifting myself off of it to wrap around him in a heavy, awkward maneuver that was about as sexy as a tree sloth. I gave up rather swiftly and slumped back down onto the bed with a huff.

Ranger finally smiled, "I thought I was gross?"

I shrugged and pouted, "I've been covered in worse."

Laughing, seemly very pleased that his sweat ranked lower on my gross out meter than vomit or dumpster juice, he rested his forehead against mine and informed me, "I have a schedule to keep today; I have to be in New York. So unless you're actually ready for that communal shower…"

"New York? Today?" I knew that I'd heard him correctly, but the words didn't quite make sense in my head.

"It was scheduled a month ago. New York first today," he told me, "then I'll be out of town for a while."

My desire drained away completely and I pulled back from him. I thought about Ranger leaving and visiting a dusty, war-torn hamlet in need. "Out of town or in the wind?" I blurted.

Ranger pulled back as well. He studied my face, but not his answer, which came without hesitation, "out of town. D.C., Atlanta. Ottawa after that. It's only for a few days."

"Ottawa?" Now I was a little confused. "Is there much call for mercenaries in Canada?"

The corners of his eyes told me he was fighting off a larger smile. "I'm meeting with a private satellite group about upgrading RangeMan's services."

"Satellite?" I asked. "As in outer space?"

"Babe, there's no amount of training or money that'll give me the ability to enter global orbit." He stood up and toed his shoes off before moving around the room, gathering a clean towel and a pair of boxers. "The group offers resources with government and military applications."

I blinked for a second as I watched him move about. Was Ranger telling me something personal or business related? Or was it both? "You mean like super-advanced GPS?" I asked.

He smiled when he glanced at me and nodded.

"Oh," I understood, "so you'll be packing suit and tie on this trip?"

"Yeah, a few of them," he confirmed as he headed into the bathroom.

I heard the water turn on in the shower and flopped back onto my pillow, stunned. My heart was racing. Ranger had told me he was going to be out of town and where he was going and what he'd be doing there… The timing was absolute shit, but that wasn't important, all considered. We'd just had a normal exchange like an honest-to-god couple – just a regular conversation with no mysteries.

It occurred to me that if he hadn't told me those things, if I hadn't come back to sleep there, he would have left town for these previously scheduled meetings and I'd have been clueless as to the reason. In all probability I would have assumed his disappearance had something to do with our fight. _Huh_. I guess sometimes it paid off to act like a grown-up.

I didn't know how to feel. Ranger had made a concession out of the blue and didn't only tell me where he was travelling to, but the reason he was going. He wasn't exactly divulging the deepest secrets of his soul. Yet, it felt like something close to it. This was a trust and concern he had never granted me. I couldn't figure out what this new information meant any more than I'd been able to understand his reasons all of the times when he'd withheld it from me in the past.

I was also beginning to understand that between Ranger's business and my insane life, there was never really a good time for anything. I'll admit to feeling mild alarm that he'd be leaving town again. There wasn't anything I could do to stop it and I also began to feel the pressure of the time constraints. I needed to take this chance to talk to him before he started jetting around North America.

As soon as I heard the shower water stop, I walked over to the bathroom and called out, "Ranger? I'm sorry about the meeting yesterday. I was out of line." There was a pause in the sound of his movements on the other side of the door. When he didn't answer I continued, "and I should have mentioned the key earlier. Hell, I shouldn't have left it out of my story in the first place."

Ranger whipped the door open so fast a tiny squeak erupted from the back of my throat and I leaned back in a defensive reflex, the speed of it only half as surprising as it felt to find Ranger's blank mask on the other side. "None of us was thinking clearly that night," he said. For several beats he looked at me as if he was reliving it all, the way I'd fallen out of that cabinet... then the moment passed just as quickly. "There's nothing to worry about now; it's over," he passed me on his way to the closet and spoke over his shoulder, "we got the paperwork from the A.D.A.'s office yesterday. Everything with the police is settled."

Acid churned in my gut and made the back of my eyes sting as I heard Robin's voice echo in my head, '_this doesn't have to be about RangeMan_'. That police matter was anything but settled.

I had a tendency to learn my lessons the hard way and wasn't about to knowingly make the same mistake yet again by keeping my latest problem to myself. I knew I was going to have to come clean about the newest mess I'd brought to their door, but the more I thought about telling Ranger, the more I felt like I'd be betraying Tank. He hired me. He was my boss. Just because the company wasn't called TankMan didn't mean that it was any less his. This Casper fiasco involved him, while Ranger had said that he didn't know anything about it.

I made my decision. That confession I'd save for Tank.

Short of a full confession, I'd at least grant Ranger some answers. It was a fine distinction to make, but while I considered it the truth that I didn't hide from Ranger, I also couldn't ignore the fact that when things between us were tense, _I ran like the dickens_! That needed to change. It was time to stop running. And it was time to make good on my own words.

While I was sure that my brain had told my feet to step closer to him, they apparently had their own ideas and rebelled by taking me across the room in the other direction. Luckily my voice obeyed me. "I'm going to answer any question you want to ask me without storming out of here, whether it pisses me off or not. So for the next few minutes you have a free pass to be as giant an ass as you'd like and at least temporarily get away with it." Then I held my breath and waited.

Ranger stepped out of his mega-closet, dressing in the last few pieces of an expensive suit. He didn't even pause between buttons as he said one word, "Morelli."

I didn't know how to answer. I didn't understand if that was even a question or not. "That covers a lot of ground. I need you to complete that thought if you want a response."

This time he did take a beat before asking, "he didn't make any threats about anything?"

"No."

He faced me and prompted, "keep going."

And instantly, I was pissed. My answer had been clear, concise and honest. What more did he want to hear? Did I need to convince him? But the anger was good. It felt familiar and would make it possible to get through my impending admission without any tears. "_Honestly_," I began with an angry purse of my lips, "the answer is simply no, not one. I think he's washing his hands of everything, including me. The impression I got was that he'd be happy never to set eyes on me again."

My anger disappeared as I watched the change in Ranger's expression. "Because you told him we slept together?" he asked.

_'Yes and no,'_ I thought. I was fairly certain that Joe's reaction was actually more about how much I'd told him and the manner in which I'd said it. I'd told Joe that with Ranger it had been more than just sex for me. Until I shouted those words at Joe, I don't think I'd entirely admitted them to myself. Mentally replaying the night before, my pulse picked up its pace thinking about how I'd done the same thing with Robin when I thoughtlessly shouted at her that I was in love with Ranger. What would happen if I shouted those things at him?

I had no intention of lying to him, but this required a little tact, of which I'm generally in short supply. Ranger was probing for something specific which I couldn't quite pinpoint and it meant that I didn't know the _right way_ to answer his question. I just had the straightforward truth and a pair of crossed fingers. "Because I said things that I can never take back and that he'll never forget."

He thought about that for a moment before changing directions slightly with, "you were never engaged?"

"I was never going to marry him."

Ranger's eyes widened. "You told him 'yes' but you didn't mean it?"

I didn't want to hesitate before every reply, but this territory was so damn new. Should I mention that the topic of marriage came up laughingly during some pretty heavy foreplay? Do I mention the way Joe tried to tempt me into accepting the idea with talk of wedding cake and oral sex? Do I explain that I'd only ever mentioned setting a date to my mother in order to placate her when she was dangerously close to the edge because her _perfect_ Val's _perfect_ life was starting to resemble my life more and more? Again, all I had to go with was the simplest truth. "The subject of marriage came up. It was never decided. It's not like he proposed to me in the traditional way or anything like that, but we talked about it."

I knew that despite my honesty, Ranger could tell I was holding back. "Why did you tell me that you were engaged to him?" he asked.

"Just because Joe and I never decided, didn't mean the rest of the world wasn't trying to decide for us."

"So what?" he demanded.

"Well…" It was driving me crazy that I couldn't return his questions with the hundreds of my own that have been running around in my head forever. "I didn't want to sleep with you," I said.

I watched some part of him that I couldn't name fold in and shut down as I said it and I knew that he'd taken it the wrong way. "Wait. That was a stupid thing to say and it's only half true, because I did really want to sleep with you. But I also didn't, you know what I mean…?"

Ranger's cell phone rang. It startled me. He reached over and grabbed it from where it sat on his dresser top. He flipped it open and then shut it again without even looking at who the caller had been. He was only looking at me.

"I had a boyfriend," I said. _How do I explain this to him?_ I kept from pacing nervously, but the agitation couldn't be denied completely and expressed itself in one rapidly tapping foot. "The whole town including our families considered us engaged. I hadn't heard anything from you for a while and then you showed up looking so good." I took a deep breath. "You smell good." _Gulp_. I gave in to the urge to pace. "And every time you kiss me I practically need a change of clothes. The DeChooch thing was blowing up in my face. I was really stressed out and confused and _embarrassed_. I mean, my mother was shopping for a dress that I couldn't tell her I didn't want, my friends were in danger, I was broke again, and I couldn't even track down one crazy old man. When I get stressed out my hormones go crazy and I'm even more impulsive than usual. And when I called you for help you laughed at me."

"I wasn't laughing at you," he cut in.

"You laughed," I repeated, an unexpected calm stilling my feet at the sound of his defensive tone. "So I snapped at you and hung up, which is hardly the end of the world according to anyone other than you. You were angry at me for it. And then…" My calm left me as quickly as it came, but now that I'd started I couldn't stop. "Then you started proposing deals and applying pressure," I blurted, louder than I'd intended.

I watched Ranger and gave him some time, but he didn't say anything. _Why wasn't he saying anything?_

"I was confused. What was I supposed to say?" I asked him. "What did you expect me to say to that? Thanks? Let me think about it? Did you think we'd shake on it, pick up DeChooch, and then stop for a box of condoms on the way back?"

"No," he answered, firm and louder than I was used to hearing from him.

"Seriously though, Ranger? Sex? My personal life was all twisted and backwards and suddenly your help wasn't free anymore."

"You know that isn't true," he said. "I told you straight out that there's no price for what we give each other. _Ever_. I have never wanted you to think that we owe each other anything."

Now he sounded like he was the one trying to convince me. "You don't really believe that though do you?" I asked gently. _How little had it meant to him that he assumed it wouldn't cost me anything either?_ It was a question I sincerely wanted him to answer, but knew he wouldn't. I wasn't surprised by how sorrowful my voice became as I challenged, "if you did, you wouldn't have waited until afterwards to say it."

We stared at each other. Ranger's cell phone rang again. This time he ignored it completely. So did I. "I'm sorry, about what I said in the meeting – "

"Babe – " he interrupted.

"No," I interrupted right back. "Just listen now. I'm trying to be honest and adult for a minute and that's kinda new for me. I'm still getting used to it." He nodded and I gathered my thoughts. "You're a very private man and what you and I have is nobody else's business. I'm sorry I blabbed something so personal in front of people and I regret _the way_ that I said it. Despite the deal you wanted to strike with me, I wasn't just repaying a debt that night. I understand you were trying to reassure me with what you were saying, being totally clear that it didn't cost you anything, but I want you to know that it did mean something to me. It was wonderful and I'm glad that it happened. I always will be. You weren't just _a fuck_. I shouldn't have made it sound that way. I don't think about it like that."

"Neither do I, Stephanie," he insisted immediately. I couldn't tell from his voice whether he was more angry or confused at what I'd said, but either way it was yet another new side of him that I'd never seen. "Not at all! That night wasn't part of an arrangement or deal for me either. I just couldn't walk away anymore. Not even one more night. I hate walking away from you."

"But you did," I snapped, ready for the argument I felt coming. "You walked away."

"I wasn't about to force you to do anything else!"

_What?_ That was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. "You never forced me to do anything."

"Didn't I?"

"No."

"You didn't want to sleep with me. I applied pressure."

I blinked. _Oh my god_. That _was_ what I'd said. And he believed it. I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

"The idea of sex with me sent you running," he said.

"I wanted to have sex with you, Ranger." _This was so unreal_.

Ranger looked like he was having as much trouble believing what he was hearing as I was. "Every time we got close, you got scared," he said. "You got drunk and fell asleep. You accused me of poaching. You tell jokes. You made excuses. You lied to me about being engaged to another man. Bought a dress. Told me there was a moral dilemma."

"There was," I said. It was undeniable. Joe and I had been serious enough to consider marriage. That made other men off limits. Would Ranger have been happier if I'd cheated on Joe with him? We weren't those kinds of people. I didn't want to be that woman. "I had a boyfriend."

"Some of the time," he corrected.

I had that feeling again like there wasn't enough air in the room. " '_Some_' is all that I've ever gotten from anyone!" I almost choked on my fear – just the thought that he might be able to sense from the look on my face or the sound of my voice or the way my chest ached – at how saying those words out loud was both the most brilliantly freeing and horrifically exposing thing I'd ever uttered to another living soul.

"It's all you've ever wanted."

"That's not true."

"What _do_ you want?"

That was the real question. I knew that it was what he'd been waiting to ask from the beginning. It seemed like lately that was all anyone was asking me. Hell, it was something I was asking myself too. "I don't know."

His eyes flashed and he actually waved a hand at the heavens in frustration as he shouted, his usually faint accent thickening momentarily, "what does it take to make you certain of anything, Stephanie?"

"Ranger," I said angrier than I intended, "I know more about what I don't want. I don't want to marry Joe. How could I marry a man who I don't love enough to keep from making out with you in parking lots? He's never liked you and always wants me to stay away from you. But I know that I don't want that either. I can't stay away from you. He knows how important you are to me and that we kiss in the alley. He hates it and I think now he hates me too." Then I gulped. Or at least I think I did. I'm not sure. Ranger's apartment phone rang at the same time and I was stuck somewhere between denial and shock at what I'd just told him.

I pointed at the ringing handset. "Someone really needs to talk to you."

But I don't think he'd even heard the phone that time. The next ring cut off, the voicemail kicking in. "They can wait," Ranger said. He was so focused. _How did he do that?_How was this conversation not terrifying to him? He was staring straight through me and I couldn't stop looking at the phone. Especially when it started to ring again.

"It doesn't seem like it. It makes more sense for us to press pause for a moment."

"Are you kidding?" he asked with an eerily calm.

Another loud ring pierced the silence. I gestured at the phone, "they'll just keep calling."

He stared at me. He literally gaped. Then marched over to the phone muttering something Spanish, the only word of which I recognized was '_loco_.' He grabbed the receiver and made no attempt to hide his impatience. "Yo." His back was to me and I found that infinitely preferable to his intense stare. "No. Give it to Rodriguez. Tell him to send it out today," be barked, cursed again in Spanish, and growled, "I know."

When he hung up and faced me again I blurted, "even when I ran, I wanted you." That part wasn't a mystery and I needed him to know. "I wanted you that night. You have no idea how much. I'm _certain_ of that."

"Do you think about that night a lot?"

_Jesus H_. … does every single day count as a lot? He was really taking advantage of this question and answer session. Why didn't I say there was a specific time limit on this or anything? "Do you?" was my poorly executed aversion.

"Constantly," he stunned me with his abrupt answer.

A disorienting, erotic slideshow flashed through my head. I felt myself blush and I panicked. "Don't you have a schedule to keep?" Why do I keep doing that? What the hell was I so scared of anyway?

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Tank checked his watch and exchanged a significant glance with Lester. The team was gathered in his office, locked and loaded. "It's been confirmed," he began. "Truth will be released today. We don't have an exact time, but that doesn't matter. I want a vehicle with eyes on the front doors as soon as we're done here."

Cal and Colt both nodded and Lester took up the lead. "Zero and Brett have his photo and are already waiting. They've been briefed on making a covert scoop of a POI who is under heavy police scrutiny. Both blue and yellow safe houses are on notice."

There was another round of nods.

"I want to make one thing clear," Tank declared. "I don't give a shit what your personal opinion is. Plum is persona non grata. If she appears or gets involved, remove her immediately. By any means. No mistakes today."

"She knows the city," Cal defended her unexpectedly.

Tank scowled at him. "She's been overworked and is due for time off. She can't follow field procedure in real time yet. Plus, she's too recognizable and too unpredictable. I don't want there to be another showdown between the two of them."

Lester agreed, "yes, Boss." This was one occasion when he and Tank were on the same page completely. Stephanie needed to stay away.

The other two men echoed the salute and were dismissed. Game time.

~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~

Stephanie watched Ranger set his bag next to the door and gather his weapons, wallet, and keys, slipping them into his pockets with a thoughtful frown. She noticed his bruised knuckles for the first time and was momentarily distracted trying to remember when or how that might have happened.

"Babe, that deal…" he recalled her attention. His frown faded when he looked up at her standing across the room, faintly backlit from the windows. He watched her fidget with the hem of the t-shirt hanging against her still bare thighs as she waited for him to go on. Trying to decide on how to say everything he wanted to tell her, Ranger wished he could just turn back the clock and choose a better place in time to begin. "That was my bad joke that just kept getting worse," he said. "It gave you the wrong idea."

Stephanie's throat began to close around thick lumps of distress. She unconsciously dug her nails into her leg and wondered exactly how wrong she'd been… _after all this time_. Normally she felt the urge to run, but in that moment she felt a panic that she might collapse onto the floor. _Had this been a joke with Ranger too?_

"I never meant for you to think that what happens between us isn't serious to me." Ranger actually ran a hand over his face in a weary gesture. "Sometimes I do _really_ stupid shit."

Stephanie had the sudden urge to laugh with the jolt of relief that she'd been wrong about things – and so had he. They were both messed up. And for the very first time, there was something about Ranger that Stephanie completely understood. For the first time she was certain that she knew how he felt. Because she felt the same way. Utterly confused and exhausted and desperate to get it all figured out.

She was equally thrilled at hearing Ranger tell her that he was stupid for a _second_ time. "You're human," she said and with a raised brow, pointed at the scraped back of his right hand, "I know."

Ranger looked down at his hand and was about to slip it into his pocket and out of sight when a heavy knocking sounded out through the apartment. They both turned in the direction of the door. Stephanie looked back at Ranger, his frown having reappeared, and smiled. "You really need to go don't you?"

"I'm late," was all he said. He looked like he absolutely hated to be late. He didn't move to leave, though. He was staring at her.

Still smiling she walked over to where he stood near the door. "It's just the pause button," she said. When he didn't reply she stepped closer and gave him a quick peck. "Call me from out of town and I'll try and think of something kinky to say."

Without realizing what he was doing, Ranger grabbed her shoulders. She was going to hit pause and wait for him. She said it to him after spending her night in his bed and telling him that she didn't want Morelli. She was standing there in his clothes, smiling and reaching up to kiss him so that the bottom of the shirt lifted and gave him a peek at her little pink panties. He was rocked by a thrill he hadn't expected and almost couldn't believe.

Stephanie wondered how she'd missed it for so long. He always did this, lingering for a moment longer than was necessary before he'd leave, staring a little harder, holding her a little tighter. It was so obvious now. He _truly_ didn't want to walk away. Then he kissed her as if he'd read her mind and wanted to prove it to her.

They half stumbled backwards until she hit the apartment door. Stephanie yanked his tie and pulled him tighter against her body, moaning. She _certainly_ knew exactly what she wanted at that second and there was no way Ranger wasn't _certainly_ clued in on it too; no ifs, ands, whats, or buts.

Then someone on the other side of the door cleared their throat. There was another gentler knock. "Ric, we need to leave." It was Ram.

Stephanie squeezed her eyes closed for a beat, wincing as if it physically hurt to let him go. It almost did. They had finally come to some semblance of an understanding. It was a beginning. And now he was leaving. She tipped her head back against the door with a gentle thud and nudged him, "go on." He just kissed her again.

Then someone on the other side of the door shouted. "For fuck's sake, we're going to miss your flight." This time it was Bobby.

Ranger groaned and murmured against her ear, "keep your phone nearby." And he was gone.

**A/N: Thank you for readi****ng! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.**


End file.
